


Howard's End

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Nights in Sandbridge [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Background Howard Stark/Maria Stark - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Drug Use, Feelings of Inadequacy, Jan and Nat will either loathe each other or take over the world together, Jealousy, M/M, Past Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone, Past physical abuse, Terminal Illnesses, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, abusive language, background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov - Freeform, learning how to fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: In the midst of the best year of Tony Stark’s life, he gets an unexpected letter: his father is dying, and he needs to go home and be with his family. But home is a beachside diner and the warm acceptance he’s never found anywhere else. Family is Dockside’s staff, especially Tony’s fiancé, Bucky, a southern gentleman who still clings to secrets and past loss. Neither have anything to do with New York City, or Stark Industries, or the boy he used to be.Bucky Barnes’ life has been like the waves, one tumble after another, until finally, he found solid ground in Tony. But he’s never been able to shake the thought that Tony was meant for better things. When Tony is called home to a life and a place where Bucky is utterly at sea, Bucky wonders if he has anything at all offer the remarkable man he loves. Will he lose Tony forever to cold corporate politics and the bride that Tony’s parents chose decades ago?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ssyn3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssyn3/gifts).



> _In Sleep we lie all naked and alone, in Sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep; for we are dying the darkness and we know no death.  
>  \-- _ Thomas Wolfe, author of _You Can’t Go Home Again_

 

Tony was almost, _almost_ tall enough to reach the light fixture while he was standing on one of the long picnic tables in Dockside’s dining room. Almost.

But not quite.

He folded his arms and glared at the shorted-out fixture. It was an easy five-minute fix, as soon as he could get his hands on it, he was pretty sure -- there was a similar fixture in Bucky’s private kitchen that had blown just last week, and it had only needed to have a bit of patching on one of the wires.

 _Their_ private kitchen, Bucky would correct, but some part of Tony was always going to think of the Dockside diner and the private residence on the second floor as Bucky’s. Especially since there were three rooms that Bucky kept closed. Tony was pretty sure one of them was the master bedroom, the room that both Bucky’s parents had died in, but he wasn’t sure what the other two were -- or even 100% sure which one was the master. He’d tried asking about them once and Bucky had asked if they could hold off on the discussion for a while. Tony figured it wasn’t important enough to push the matter -- they didn’t need all that much space anyway -- but it did add to the feeling that it was Bucky’s house and Tony was just living in it.

Not that he wasn’t grateful for that. Living with Bucky these last six months had been pretty damn great.

Tony reached for the fixture again, just in case he’d grown another three inches or something in the last thirty seconds. Nope, no dice.

Just as he was glaring at it, Nat pushed in from the kitchen carrying a big tray of napkin-rolled utensils. “You must hurry,” she told him. “They are not back yet, and lunch prep must be done soon. And I must wipe your shoe prints off the table before a customer sits there.”

Tony twisted around to look at the big clock on the wall behind the register, and frowned. Bucky had promised he and Steve would be back in time for the lunch opening; they could wing it for half an hour or so without Bucky, if they had to, or without Steve, but no one else who worked at Dockside had quite mastered the grill, and a diner without a cook was pretty useless. He fished his phone out of his pocket, but there weren’t any messages. He sighed and put the phone away.

“Okay,” he told Nat. “I just want to get this one light fixed, it’ll only take a minute. Hey, drag one of the porch chairs in here, would you?”

Nat narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you going to put a wobbly chair on the table with gaps between the boards and then stand on it?” she asked, voice dangerously smooth.

“It’s really not as hazardous as you’re making it sound,” Tony said. “Come on, I thought we were in a hurry.”

“We are,” Nat said. “Which is why the light can wait until the afternoon lull, or even until tomorrow, when we can get the ladder and do it properly.”

“Ug, you’re no fun.”

“Down,” Nat said, pointing at the floor beside her like she was talking to Lucky.

Tony rolled his eyes, but clambered down off the table. “Is this a thing that happens, when you get married?” he wondered. “You get all safety-conscious and boring? Because if so, I might have to tell Bucky that we have to call off the wedding and keep living in sin for another decade or so.”

“Are we calling off the wedding _again_?” Bucky mock-sighed, coming in from the kitchen door, several bags hanging from his elbow. “What now?”

“Marriage has drained away Nat’s sense of adventure,” Tony explained, giving Bucky a quick kiss hello. “We can’t risk becoming staid and dull.”

“Oh, well, that’s fair,” Bucky allowed, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. “Guess the wedding’s off, then.”

“Only because I do not want Antonishka to topple over and break his head on the floor,” Nat said haughtily. “Go on, Tony, tell Bucky what you were going to do, and see how much sin your living has in it then.”

Bucky looked from her to Tony, eyebrow raised.

“It was nothing,” Tony said, waving a hand around airily. “Just a little improvisation that Nat seemed to think was unsafe, because she’s old and married and boring now. Not to mention _cruel_ ,” he directed to Nat, pressing his hand over his heart. “I knew you were heartless, but _wow_.”

Steve pushed the swinging door open, but just leaned around it to eye them all. “Much as I appreciate the charm of verbally abusing my wife,” he said drily, “I understand we’ve got some sort of business to run, here? Maybe we should think about getting on with it?”

Tony rolled his eyes and stuffed his screwdriver into his back pocket. “Such a nag,” he grumbled at Steve. “You two deserve each other.” He headed toward the kitchen to get on with his portion of the prep, but Bucky caught his arm and tugged him back.

“I would be very put out if you broke your head on the floor,” he said mildly.

“Good thing that wouldn’t have happened then,” Tony promised. He kissed Bucky again, letting it linger for just a moment longer. “We were just playing. Promise, honey.”

“Good.” Bucky said. “Guess that means the wedding’s back on, too.”

Tony huffed a huge sigh. “If we must.”

“We must.” Bucky kissed the pout off his face, then swatted his ass and grinned unrepentantly at Tony’s yelp. “Now get to work.”

Tony was already pushing through the door to the kitchen when Bucky called after him, “Oh, almost forgot -- there was a letter for you in the mail.”

***

Tony sat in Bucky’s chair in the office for a long, long time, looking at the letter on the desk. He wasn’t sure he wanted to touch it, much less open it. There was no return address, but he knew that handwriting. It had gotten shakier over the years, but he’d know that swooping loop on the end of his name anywhere.

Bucky rapped on the doorframe, his normal, brilliant grin in place. “Hey, space cadet,” he said. “Earth to Tony.”

Tony glanced up and smiled. “Hey, honey.” He looked back at the letter, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Why? After all this time?”

“What, why?” Bucky stepped into the tiny office, put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, leaning into Bucky’s touch. He nodded at the letter. “That’s from my mom.”

Bucky blinked. “I didn’t realize. Well, of course you _have_ a mom, but. You never talk about her, not _at all_.” He plucked up the envelope and turned it over in his hand. “Do… you want me to throw it out for you? Or read it?”

Tony closed his eyes, breathing slowly. “No, I... I’ll read it myself. But. Stay with me?”

“Always.” Bucky ran one hand through Tony’s hair, pulling on the short scruff lightly. He put the letter back down on the desk in front of Tony before leaning on the desk to face away, giving Tony as much privacy as the confines of his office allowed. “I’m right here.”

Tony picked up the envelope and carefully slid his finger under the edge, tearing it open. There was only one sheet of paper inside, the heavy, creamy stock she kept in her desk. He unfolded it, and his hand sought Bucky’s as he read.

> Dear Antonio,
> 
> I know that you left us for good reason, and I couldn’t blame you for not wanting to come back. When we found out you’d moved again, I hoped you might send us your new address, at least, but you didn’t. I’ve tried to respect your wishes and stay away.
> 
> I’m sorry for intruding now, truly I am, and at your place of employment, no less. I hope this hasn’t gotten you in trouble with your employer. But I hope you’ll agree it was necessary.
> 
> Your father is gravely ill, and has been admitted to hospice care. He has a few weeks, maybe a month.
> 
> Please, come ~~ho~~ to New York to say goodbye. If not for his sake, then for mine, and if not for mine, then for your inheritance.
> 
> My number is below, if you need money for tickets or anything else. However you decide, know that I will always love you.
> 
> Mama

“Oh, god,” he breathed. His heart was pounding like it was trying to climb out of his chest. “Oh, _god_ , I don’t...” He looked at it again, but the letters were blurring from the trembling in his hand. “What the hell.”

“You want to tell me?” Bucky voice was cautious, full of an emotion Tony wasn’t sure how to interpret. Restrained, in a way he rarely was. His hand continued to move over Tony’s hair, stroking and soothing. “Bad news?”

Tony laughed joylessly. “I wish I could say.” He held out the letter for Bucky to take. “Maybe you can tell me.”

Bucky scanned through the letter, eyes flickering from the graceful scrawl and then to check the emotional weather on Tony’s face. The paper was shaking, just slightly, when he put it back down on the desk. “She knew. About how your father treated you?”

Tony shrugged and then nodded. “He didn’t treat her much better.”

Bucky nodded. “Know a little about that,” he said. “Ask Steve, sometime.” He scrubbed at his chin, the scruff there making soft sounds against his palm. “You love her?”

Tony had to think about that. For a long time, he had hated her for not stopping his father, for not leaving. But he’d missed her desperately when he’d left on his own. And he’d come to understand, slowly, that it wasn’t as black-and-white for her as it had been for him. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I don’t always like her, but... she’s my mom.”

Bucky took a long, deep breath. “Then you should go,” he said. “Not for your dad; he can go straight to hell after he dies and I’ll help push. But for her sake. And yours. The last thing you want in this is to regret it.”

Tony nodded. Bucky was probably right. At least if he went, he could say he’d tried. He leaned into Bucky, closing his eyes and burying his face in Bucky’s shirt, breathing in the warm scent that had come to mean _home_. “I’ll... ask around, see if I can string together some subs for me, for a few days.”

Bucky picked up his phone, tapped into the screen. He frowned, tapped again. “Do… would you want me to come with you?”

Tony looked up, eyes stretching wide. He hadn’t even dared to _hope_. Dockside was Bucky’s _life_ ; usually it was like pulling teeth just to get Bucky to take a whole day off. “Could you? I know you... it’s not like you have vacation you can cash in.”

Bucky’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. “I can,” he said, and turned the phone to show Tony.

Bucky: _gt ur ass bak hre. Nd u 4 a fw dys._

New text from Clint: _not far. Charleston. be home tomorrow._

Clint hadn’t even asked why. Fuck, Tony was going to start crying or something. “Okay, then. Yeah. Let’s...” He took a couple of quick breaths. “I’ll look up air fares tonight.” He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and squeezed. “Thank you.”

“Never been on a plane before,” Bucky mused. He put his arms around Tony, gently. “It’ll be okay, babe. I promise, I won’t let anything happen.” He kissed Tony’s hair. “Let’s finish getting closed up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s... Yeah.” A sudden laugh bubbled up out of Tony’s throat. “Oh, god, you’ve never flown and I’m going to take us to La Guardia.” But he felt better, knowing Bucky would be with him. He let go, then took the hand Bucky offered to stand. “Maybe I’ll drag you sightseeing while we’re there. So you’ll finally know what it’s like to _be_ the tourist.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said, a little hesitant. “We can do some of that, if you want. Maybe it’ll give me patience with some of th’ idjits we get around here sometimes.”

“Unlikely,” Tony said. “But it’ll give us an excuse not to hang around the house all the time, at least.” He tugged Bucky close and kissed him, soft and chaste. “Love you. So much.” He sighed, tucked the letter in his pocket, and shoved his hand through his hair. “You think Nat and Steve will believe we’ve been skiving off cleanup and close so I could blow you in here?”

“Pretty sure Nat’ll believe just about anything from you,” Bucky said, groaning into Tony’s neck. “The question is, will _Steve_ believe I’d let you. Or you think Nat’ll open the door to prove it to him?”

“And then she’d probably kill us both,” Tony sighed. “Feed our bodies to the jellyfish.”

Bucky appeared to consider it. “Jellyfish get hungry, too,” he said, raising one eyebrow hopefully.

And, well, Tony had said it as something between a joke and an excuse not to have to talk to the others about the letter and its news, yet, but if Bucky was actually going to let Tony blow him in his office, with Nat and Steve still in the restaurant, just on the other side of the door...

Well, that was an opportunity too good to pass up. Tony pushed Bucky back against the desk and slid to his knees, unfastening Bucky’s pants. “You going to be able to keep quiet for me?” he teased, looking up at Bucky through his eyelashes.

Bucky sucked in air and bit his lip. “Gonna try,” he promised. Quiet was not a thing either of them did very well.

Tony worked Bucky’s pants and underwear down, just enough to let him pull out Bucky’s cock, already half-hard. Tony had seen it hundreds of times now, but it never failed to make his mouth water. He licked up its length, a broad, slow stripe, then tipped his head to watch Bucky’s face as he took the head into his mouth to suckle gently, tracing each tiny fold of skin with his tongue.

Bucky’s fingers threaded into Tony’s hair. “God, baby, love the things you do,” he whispered. He chuckled, low and wicked. “Gotta marry you soon, before I get sued for sexually harassing my employees.”

“You keep saying that, and here we are, still not married,” Tony pointed out. “Mr. Barnes, are you just stringing me along so you can have your wicked way with me?” He punctuated that with another slow lick up Bucky’s now mostly-hard prick.

Bucky pretended to consider that, which would have been more impressive had he not also been clutching, white knuckled, at the desk behind him. “Depends. Do I get more, or less sex once I marry you?” He wobbled a bit, then let out a low moan.

“Shhhh,” Tony warned. He wrapped one hand around the base of Bucky’s cock and braced the other on Bucky’s hip, and sucked Bucky in, slow and steady, teasing at his own gag reflex and humming happily.

Bucky shivered. He shifted his balance, hooking one leg around Tony’s lower back, the muscle in his calf flexing. Breathless, wordless, he watched, staring down at Tony with wide, ocean-gray eyes as Tony took him in. Tony tongued at him, and Bucky twitched, breathing slow, so slow, then jerked his hips as Tony found a particularly wicked combination. “God.”

Tony chuckled a little at that, and sucked harder. Not for the first time, he wished he could talk while doing this. He wanted to tell Bucky how good this was, how much he loved this, Bucky’s taste and scent overwhelming everything else. He wanted to tease Bucky with the reminder that the others were still nearby, could walk in on them at any moment. He settled for humming vibrations into Bucky’s skin, keeping his eyes on Bucky’s face so Bucky couldn’t look away.

Bucky wasn’t above cheating; he licked his lips, then sucked the lower one into his mouth, denting the skin with his teeth. Using the back of Tony’s leg, he flicked one ancient sneaker off and rubbed his foot against Tony’s thigh, teasing until he got an angle on Tony’s stiffening prick, pressing lightly. “Hey there,” he said, soft.

Ohhhh, that felt nice. Tony let his eyelids flutter shut for a moment, rocking into Bucky’s touch. He redoubled his efforts; there were times he wanted to draw this out as long as he could, see just how desperate he could get Bucky, but not this time. The possibility of getting caught was a fun added adrenaline rush, but actually getting caught was slightly embarrassing and also rude as hell to the people who hadn’t wanted to be involved. And the longer they were in here, the more likely it was that someone would come looking.

Tony pulled off, just long enough to gasp, “Come on, baby, come for me, and then you can take me upstairs and make me scream, hm?” and swallowed him back down, even deeper, hand sliding between Bucky’s thighs to cup his balls and press gently just behind them.

Tony fucked Bucky with his mouth and Bucky returned the favor, cupping one hand behind Tony’s head and sliding in and out with deep relish. “ _Jesus_ ,” he whispered, then lost the ability to speak at all, his mouth working but no sound coming out. He thrust twice, hard, almost gagging Tony, then stiffened. He raised one hand to his mouth, bit down hard on the meaty part of his palm, just under the thumb. His cock jumped, twitched inside Tony’s mouth. Bucky convulsed once, violent, and came, thick streams of it, spurting into Tony’s willing throat.

Tony swallowed and swallowed again, and kept licking and sucking, softer, until the last weak pulses were spent and a tiny whine of overstimulation slipped from Bucky’s throat. He pulled back and very carefully tucked Bucky back into his underwear and pants. “That was awesome,” he said, just to hear the rasp in his voice. He nuzzled at Bucky’s fly a little, then climbed to his feet. “We are _so_ doing that again.”

“Holy _shit_ , Tony,” Bucky said, low and reverent. He tried to stand up and fell back weakly against his desk, knocking over the jar of pens and pencils. He rubbed his thumb over Tony’s lip, then along the side of his jaw. “God, you look well and thoroughly molested.”   

Tony grinned. “Good.” He leaned in to kiss Bucky, feeling a hundred times better than he had before. “Come on, let’s go finish cleanup so Nat and Steve will go away.”


	2. Chapter 2

Maria Stark pushed the door open slowly. She hadn’t been here for a while, but every time she stepped into her son’s room, she forgot that so much time had passed.

Twice weekly cleanings had kept the room dust free, but her orders to the housekeeping service had been exacting. Nothing was to be moved. Antonio’s room must stay exactly as it had always been. He would want it that way, would want to be comfortable when he came home. Would want his things exactly as he’d left them, his father’s child in ways neither of them wanted to admit.

Sometimes, Maria could pretend that he’d never left; that it was only a few more hours until he would be home from high school, flinging his backpack onto the bed and vanishing into his computer programs until she called him to dinner, and then he would come reluctantly downstairs to eat and report to Howard on his studies.

The air in his room, still and unlived in, told a different story. It spoke of arguments grown out of control as Antonio tried on the mantle of his growth and Howard attempted to push his son back into the place designated for him since before his birth. Of heated words and raised hands.

Maria sat on Antonio’s bed, her hands spreading the lines of her dress into tidy folds. She could never look anything other than her best; that had been trained into her for years before she married, and enforced by a husband who wanted -- and deserved -- nothing but the best.

The room had aged; the colors were faded. The collectors figures were contained in their boxes, neat and unopened; they were valuable, but the movies had faded from importance. Perhaps Antonio would want to sell them. He was a man grown now.

Maria got to her feet, all grace and ease, even though her heart was beating furiously. She had not seen her son, not even pictures in… more time than she wanted to remember. She had to check the calendar. The one in Antonio’s room was still turned to March of 2011, the very last time he was home, that Easter before he’d --

She was gasping, hand pressed to her chest. Underneath her dress, her heart was racing. She staggered a step and fumbled at her bracelet. It had once been a fancy engraved watch, but she’d convinced a jeweler to remove the watch components. Under the watch face was a tiny compartment that held three pale peach tablets. She considered them for a moment, then dry-swallowed two of them, waiting for her medication to calm her.

Her cellular vibrated. She’d put the wretched thing down again, as she’d come into Antonio’s room, but -- ah, there it was. She picked it up. Howard was always telling her she’d forget her head if it wasn’t attached, and sometimes his reminders came with a sharp grip on her forearm. She rubbed the spots where his fingers left bruises sometimes; he truly did not know his own strength.

Ah, yes. The phone. She turned the screen over.

The letters swam in front of her and she held the cellular out, trying to focus. The reminder pinged. She struggled to remember how to turn it off before the sound drove her absolutely wild. Right, right. She’d set an alarm; Antonio would be getting off a plane in two hours. She’d told her driver -- Howard was always so concerned for her health, and he disapproved of women driving -- to fetch her son and his bride-to-be from the airport.

Maria should remind the driver. If he left now, he would be awaiting Antonio before the plane landed. Maria considered: was she well enough to go with him? No, no, the airport was a dirty and crowded place. Too many pick-abouts and tourists. Greeting her son like a common traveller would be undignified, and her grace and charm was what Howard loved in her.

She would remain here and greet him as befitted the matron of a soon-to-grow family.

Her son was getting married. How delightful. He’d sent her a cellular message to that effect when he’d let her know that he would come visit.

_coming wednesdy, wire $$ for tix, btw bringing my fiance_

Antonio’s spelling was horrible. The cellular messages were particularly unpleasant that way. Young people, shortening down words and typing in abominable code. She’d sent the money immediately, of course, enough for two first class tickets, and had the housekeeping staff open up the goldenrod guest suite. The conservatory was right off that bedroom, and perhaps the young lady would like to hear Antonio’s performance on the piano. She hoped he’d managed to keep up with his practice.

Maria had never met the young lady, but of course her Antonio would select a wonderful girl. Maria could barely contain her excitement. Perhaps, perhaps, one day there would even be _grandbabies_. And of course they should have the wedding here, in the city, where Maria could be in charge of the planning. She was a delightful event planner.

Oh! The driver, of course! She’d almost forgotten. She took one last look at Antonio’s room. She would see him soon!

She pulled the door shut carefully behind her.

***

Tony was definitely nervous, not that Bucky could blame him. He’d been bouncing back and forth between uncertain silence and random babbling since the moment they’d set foot in the airport back in Virginia. Now, as they made their way through the terminal in New York -- Christ, it was crowded, worse than the beaches on the Fourth of July -- Tony was all but vibrating, moving his backpack from one hand to the other, slinging it over a shoulder only to drop it back to his hand a few steps later.

Tony veered sharply around a corner and led Bucky toward an escalator. “--someone to meet us,” he was saying. “But if she forgot, we’ll just grab a cab. I’m not going to subject you to the subway until we’ve been in the city for at least twenty-four hours.” He threw Bucky a shaky grin.

Sure. How the _fuck_ were they gonna spot someone sent to meet them? There were so damn many people, Bucky could feel them invading his brainwaves. Not like they were paying any particular attention to him, but the press of humanity was just. Terrifying, really. Bucky’d practically memorized the clothes Tony was wearing, just so he could spot the man if they got separated in the crush.

Bucky still wasn’t too sure how he felt about flying, though the seats had been comfortable enough and the flight attendants solicitous. Tony had pointed out that they were flying first class (thanks to his mom) and that the general experience of travelers was not nearly so pleasant. The kind of money that went into their tickets was… a little boggling, really, and then she wasn’t even going to meet them herself? Bucky shook his head; Tony didn’t talk much about his family, and Bucky didn’t push, but he was starting to feel that Tony had left out even more than Bucky had suggested.

Bucky had only ever seen airports in movies, and the one time he’d dropped Steve and Nat off for a vacation. This… this was nothing like Norfolk, and Bucky wasn’t sure how Tony had any goddamn idea where he was going, but since he obviously did, Bucky kept as close as possible without actually putting a hand on Tony’s wrist like a toddler.

As soon as the escalator stopped, Tony was moving again -- Jesus, how big _was_ this place? -- but he finally pulled to a halt as the walkway opened up into a broad area full of baggage carousels. They hadn’t checked any bags, but Tony was studying the board anyway. Before Bucky could ask, he started moving again. They walked past three carousels... four... Bucky was pretty sure Norfolk didn’t even have a tenth the number.

Tony’s path curved, suddenly, away from the actual carousels and the clusters of tired people around them. After a moment, Bucky realized they were moving toward a stocky, balding man in a suit. He was standing near the wall, posture almost military-straight, though his hands were clasped in front of him.

“Happy!” Tony said, and as Bucky wondered if that was a statement or a command or something else entirely, the stocky man turned toward them, and his patient, bored expression split into a wide grin.

“Mister Stark!” he said, deftly taking Tony’s bag and slinging it over his own shoulder before greeting Tony with a one-armed hug.

“Oh, god, Happy, don’t call me that,” Tony groaned.

“Whatever you say, boss,” the man -- apparently Happy was his name? -- said, his eyes scrunching merrily.

Tony rolled his eyes extravagantly and took Bucky’s arm, tugging. “Bucky, this is Happy, my mom’s driver. Hap, this is Bucky. My fiancé.” Tony smiled at Bucky proudly, not noticing the briefly startled look that Happy shot him.

Jesus Christ, what had he gotten himself into? Tony’s mom had a driver? A permanent employee who had obviously been with the family long enough to remember Tony, who’d been gone from home for _years_. Bucky fumbled with his bag -- it was new enough that he still hadn’t figured out where all the straps were and it never seemed balanced correctly on his arm. He managed to get himself straightened out and offered the man a hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, aware that his drawl was… very obvious.

Happy didn’t seem to notice. He shook Bucky’s hand firmly. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he said. “Can I take your bag, sir?”

Oh, boy. Sure. Bucky took a deep breath and shook the bag down his arm. “Thank you.” He twitched a little; there wasn’t much in the bag that was particularly valuable or anything, but he wasn’t used to people carrying his stuff. It was weird. Weirder was someone calling Tony _boss_. Or Mister Stark. Tony was just… Tony. Except, obviously, he was someone else entirely, here.

Happy slung Bucky’s bag over the same shoulder as Tony’s -- _he_ didn’t seem to have trouble with the way it balanced -- and said, “Car’s this way,” before heading toward the bank of smoky glass doors.

Tony caught Bucky’s hand in his as they followed. “It’s weird, huh? I guess I should’ve explained a little more. Mom doesn’t drive. I don’t think she even has a license.”

“Climate change,” Bucky said, trying not to dwell on it. “Adapt or die, right?” He squeezed Tony’s fingers, wondering if it was okay to hold hands, and then forgot about it when they got outside. Tony’s mom’s car was… something else. That was a fucking _Bentley_ or Bucky would eat his ballcap. “Think I mighta forgot to ask about your net worth, Tony.”

Tony tightened his grip. “I turned up on your doorstep with about twenty dollars to my name,” he said seriously. “My folks are... Uh, okay, pretty well-off. But it doesn’t mean anything, not for us. I promise. I won’t let you drown. C’mon.” He climbed into the back seat, tugging Bucky with him. “It’s only a couple of days, right?”

Only a couple of days. Right. Bucky was sitting in a fucking car that was worth half as much as his entire restaurant, but it was okay. “Right.” He glanced at Tony, who was both smiling and doing that weird tightness around his eyes that meant he was thinking too hard, or thinking about the wrong things, and Bucky remembered suddenly that Tony hadn’t just shown up at his door broke, but also _broken_. And he’d still said Ty was better than his father.

With that firmly in mind, he was able, a little, to push aside sitting in a three hundred thousand dollar car like it was only a little weird. He was here to support Tony, not make Tony spoon feed him through this mess like an infant.

Happy closed the trunk with their bags in it and came around to the front, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Tony leaned forward, not relinquishing his hold on Bucky’s hand. “When’d you get this?” he asked Happy. “How’re you liking it?”

And then Happy and Tony were talking about the car’s engine and handling, and _that_ was Tony all over. Bucky had spent more than one evening watching Tony and Pinky Pinkerton argue about cars and engines and performance ratios and words that didn’t even make sense to Bucky’s ears. Tony glanced back at him and smiled warmly, then went back to talking to Happy, who’d pulled out into the traffic so smoothly Bucky hadn’t even noticed the movement.

Bucky tuned that out, taking a few minutes to gawp out the tinted windows. He’d obviously seen New York City in countless movies and television shows -- the most familiar skyline in the world, he’d heard it called. The sky itself seemed… very far away. Home to eight and a half million people… Jesus. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, feeling weirdly small and insignificant. Tony’s hand was warm in his, and Bucky summoned up a quick grin. “So, how long’s it take t’ get anywhere in this mess?”

Tony snorted. “In a car? You remember that day there was an accident just on the other side of the roadwork in the middle of the summer? It’s like that, only every single driver is also an entitled prick.”

Well. He supposed if you were going to spend all your time sitting in your car, it should at least be a comfortable one. Which reminded him, he should let everyone know they’d arrived safely. If that’s what he wanted to call this. Bucky dug his phone out of his back pocket. Turned it on. It buzzed several times as the texts rolled in. Ug. Nat had written all hers in Russian, just to make his eyes bleed. Speaking Russian was one thing, reading Cyrillic was an entirely different matter. He muttered a few choice phrases at the phone and not any of Nat’s fake cussing, but the actual swears while trying to get to the keyboard options for that language. She’d have words with him -- not kind ones -- if he answered her in English.

“Apparently Bobbi’s trying to convince Steve that she should be in charge while we’re gone,” he reported to Tony, after a while. “That should be entertaining to hear about.”

“God, why would she _want_ \-- Nope, never mind, I forgot who we’re talking about.” Tony sat back in the seat and leaned into Bucky’s side. “How’s Steve taking it?”

Bucky tipped the phone to show Nat’s string of texts. “From here… to here… that’s all cussing.” And then there were some pictures she’d snapped, one of which had Steve in an apron and up to his elbows in dishwater.

“Real cussing, or Nat cussing?” Tony took the phone from him to look at the picture more closely. “Who convinced him to do a damn dish? My hat’s off to whoever it is. Even if it was Bobbi.”

“Suspect it was Clint doing his normal half-assed job,” Bucky said. “Steve’ll take the damn dishes away from you if you hand him a plate with streaks on it. Nat’ll get him back in line in a day or so. Just in time for us to come back, I reckon.”

Tony grumbled, “All this time he’s been too high-and-mighty to help out when I’m in the weeds and it turns out the reason is I’m _too competent_?” He scowled at Bucky exaggeratedly.

“At least we don’t have to listen to him complain,” Bucky pointed out. He thumbed back another quick message. Ug. He had to be careful when texting in Cyrillic. Probably why Nat had done it, his normal texting grammar was hideous. He glanced out the window again; the buildings were enormous. And filthy. Ug. And he thought downtown Richmond was metropolitan. He snapped a quick picture of the world outside and sent it off to Nat.    

They chatted back and forth for a while, Tony pointing out points of interest amidst gossiping about their friends, and then the car shut off -- rather suddenly, to Bucky -- and Happy exited the vehicle. They must have arrived. Tony closed his eyes and took a slow, bracing breath, then looked at Bucky. “Thank you for coming with me,” he said. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

 _This_ , apparently, was a house three times the size of Bucky’s restaurant, at least. Five stories straight up, a wrought iron fence circling the whole thing, with high tech motion capture cameras set in the various corners.

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Bucky said, not quite able to stifle it. He counted: there were two other front doors in the building, so this was an end-unit, but _still_. For a long, long moment, Bucky wanted to just turn tail and run; there was nothing here for him, and if this was where Tony came from, this was… _No_. He very clearly remembered Tony, straightening up and facing down a sleazy, looming Tiberius Stone and enunciating, “I’m not going back to New York, with you or anyone else. I’m already home.”

Bucky stepped out of the car when Happy opened the door, not because he was waiting for the driver to do it, but because Bucky was honestly stuck in the car, unable to function in the face of that intimidating house.“Yeah, baby. I’m right here with you.”

“Mrs. Stark, she’s been real excited to see you,” Happy told Tony. “I expect she’ll be waiting right in the--”

“Front parlor,” Tony finished, with a sigh. “Yeah, I figured. Thanks for the ride, Happy.” He took Bucky’s hand again as they faced the door, his own trembling, just slightly. “Well. Ready to go face the dragon?”

“Wish you’d told me,” Bucky said, sincerely. “I’d have packed a sword.” He squeezed Tony’s hand. “A few days, an’ if we have to, we can leave whenever we want, right?”

“You bet,” Tony said. “Bus ticket to Virginia Beach is less than forty bucks.” He gave Bucky a small smile, then squared his shoulders and stepped forward.

***

 _Home_ was several hundred miles south, an apartment over a beachside diner, every space brimming with warmth and love. _Home_ was the man at his side, who had to be intimidated as fuck -- Tony always forgot how big the house was, and that had been when he’d been coming back to it every few months -- but was here anyway, holding tight to Tony’s hand and smiling bravely.

But it was hard to walk through the door and not call it “home,” even if it had never been half so welcoming as the place he lived or the people he loved now. Just a _house_ , he reminded himself. His parents’ house. Soon to be his mother’s alone.

And that was another complicated knot of emotions and thoughts that Tony had been trying not to deal with for the last several days. He swallowed it back down, yet again. “I’ll give you the tour in a bit,” he promised Bucky. “Should go say hi to Mom, first.” He looked toward the front parlor. The door was open, only about a quarter of the way: Mom was engineering a Moment, apparently.

Tony suppressed a sigh and walked into it -- if he didn’t let her have her Moment, then he was risking a Scene instead. And he was here to play nice, at least for now. He tapped lightly on the cracked door and pushed it open. “Mom?”

Maria Stark had aged. Of course she had; it had been seven years. But Tony had to pause to take in the differences. Her dress was a newer fashion; Mom was always an absolute pink, as far as that went, but the pearls were the same, a simple double strand. She fluttered her hand over her heart as she looked up. She got to her feet with a trembling smile that settled as she took a step forward. Her hair, always a pale, platinum blonde, was streaked with finest silver and her eyes had a thin web of wrinkles at the corner. She wore ridiculously terrible shoes; high-heeled, pointy-toed things that would be uncomfortable for a woman half her age.

“Antonio?” She held out one hand to him, decorated and weighed down with rings, and a platinum watch that he’d never seen before. “ _Cuore mio_!” Tony hadn’t heard any Italian (much less spoken it) in a long, long time. And he wasn’t sure that his mother _had_ a heart, sometimes, much less should call him hers, but whatever. He was indulging the Moment.

He took her hand and let her draw him to her for an embrace. Not a proper hug -- that might wrinkle the expensive fabric -- but when Tony put his hands on her shoulders, she was trembling, nonetheless. “It’s good to see you again,” he said. He bent -- _bent_ , and that was distinctly strange, because he hadn’t yet topped her height when he’d seen her last -- to let her kiss his cheeks. “Mom, let me introduce my fiancé, Bucky-- uh, James Barnes.” He stepped to the side and invited Bucky closer with a smile. “My mom,” he said, feeling like an idiot, because of course Bucky knew that already, but if he didn’t keep to the proper manners, she’d be upset. At least Bucky knew about mothers who expected formal manners long gone out of style. “Maria Stark.”

Bucky straightened a bit to his full height and pulled out what he sometimes called his lemonade-and-teacakes manners, the sort he used with friends of his own parents. The etiquette Tony had learned was for high society, and Bucky’s was Southern, quaint and old-fashioned and somehow tragically elegant. If Tony wasn’t standing in the same room with his _mother_ , he might have been turned on. “Ma’am,” he said, taking just the ends of Maria’s fingers in a light hold, then letting go. “It’s an honor. Thank you very much for allowing me to take advantage of your hospitality in this time of your family’s troubles. I hope you’re well?”

Maria blinked, then glanced at Tony with one eyebrow delicately raised. “Of course, Mr. Barnes, we’re delighted to have you here,” she said in a tone that meant anything but. “I do as well as can be expected. Antonio, I’ve arranged to… em-hem, have your friend housed in the goldenrod guest room. Your father is usually a little better in the evenings, perhaps you could pay your visit to him at five?” She fluttered her hand again and fidgeted with the watch on her wrist before giving Tony an absent smile. “Oh, and I invited a few families over, to celebrate your return home. Dinner’s at eight.”

Oh, _Christ_. “Mom,” Tony protested, “we came to see you and Dad.” He didn’t trip over that; he was very proud. “We didn’t exactly pack our dinner jackets. Just who’s coming?” Depending on who they were, “a few families” would eat Bucky for an appetizer and not even bother to spit out the bones.

“There are shops, darling,” she chided gently. “And no one, really, just an intimate little dinner. The Van Dynes, of course, and the Danvers, and Obadiah’s anxious to welcome you home, too, so the Stanes will be coming as well.”

Tony checked the clock on the mantle -- there was _just_ time to get them suitable clothing and have it -- minimally -- tailored. The Danvers and the Stanes wouldn’t particularly care if he and Bucky showed up in their jeans and t-shirts, but the Van Dynes had been fashion pioneers for three generations. He sighed. “I’ll need to borrow Happy, then,” he said, “and your credit card.”

Maria huffed; it was not as obvious as it would be for anyone else, just a sigh that was the tiniest bit deeper than normal. “ _Your_ card is on your dresser, dear. But by all means, take Happy. I shall be needed with Ana for some time, as soon as she’s back from the markets, so we can finalize the menu. Something blue, I think, dear. You always did look nice in blue.” She flicked her gaze at Bucky and then seemed to look right through him as if he wasn’t even there. “And Janet’s coming, you always _liked_ Janet. Very sweet young woman, very sharp. She’s been looking forward to seeing you again, I know.”

Tony did not roll his eyes directly at his mother, but it was a close thing. Their parents had been trying to pair Tony and Janet off since they had been about six. So much for hoping that already being engaged would be a deterrent, at all. At least he _did_ like Janet. Bucky would like her too, and that was a boon. “I’m looking forward to seeing her, too,” he said neutrally. “And I bow to your wisdom in colors; blue it is. Bucky looks gorgeous in blue.” That might have been a little too pointed, but his mother would never stoop so low as to call him on it in front of a guest.

Needing to shop was an excuse to bow out, so he made his farewells and all but dragged Bucky out of the parlor. “A dinner party? What the fuck,” he sighed. He glanced up at Bucky. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can get out of it, but you can claim to be sick or something.”

Bucky took a deep breath, eyes wider than normal as he took in the elaborate decor of just the hallway. “If… if you don’t think I’ll embarrass you in front of your mom’s friends --”

“Oh, god no!” Tony said. “More like the opposite. They’re all... Well, not _all_ , but.” He sagged a little, then turned to face Bucky squarely. “Honey, I love you, and I’m proud to tell anyone and everyone that. I just... I know it’s a lot.” He winced. “I definitely should’ve given you more of an idea what to expect.”

Bucky looked around again, gaze resting on a hideous painting with a gilded frame. “I… don’t think it would’ve helped, really.” He chewed his lip for a moment, then, in tones that imitated Nat when she was in a high dudgeon, “I can speak Russian all evening and pretend that English of yours is distant second language.” While Nat complained about his accent from time to time, when he was pretending to be Russian, Bucky sounded very convincing to anyone who hadn’t been born to the language.

Tony had to grin at that. “That would be pretty funny.” He dropped his head to Bucky’s shoulder. “I love you, like, a ridiculous amount. You know that, right?”

Bucky ran one hand through Tony’s hair. “I really hope so.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

The plan. The _plan_ had been to stop quickly in Tony’s old room, grab the credit card his Mom said was there and his bag that Happy would have brought up, and then go dump the bag in the goldenrod room, because hell if he was leaving Bucky alone for _one second_ longer than necessary in this house. And then go shopping.

That had been the plan. And then Tony had opened the door to his room.

The last time Tony had really lived here, before he’d gone off to college, he’d been fifteen. He’d come home for one summer, and a couple of winter breaks, but it wasn’t like he’d wanted to spend his breaks redecorating. Mostly, he’d spent them coming up with excuses to _not be home_. And for reasons he wasn't about to examine, his mother hadn’t seen fit to pack his things away and redecorate in the years since he’d left.

And so his room. Oh god, his _room_... was still a fifteen-year-old’s room. Star Wars toys. Star Wars _sheets_. Posters of cars (actually those weren’t too bad except for how out-of-date they were). A terrible cheesecake calendar. His high school textbooks shelved with row upon row of pulp sci-fi novels. Assorted school awards. Oh, Christ, this was embarrassing.

There were probably still a couple of porn mags under the mattress, but Tony didn’t dare look.

“Oh, god,” he croaked. Bucky peered over his shoulder, and then pushed past him into the room, grinning delightedly.

“Holy _shit_ , Tony,” Bucky said, eyes drawn to the collection of still in the packaging figures, running one hand over them. “You have FX-7? Mint condition?” He very gingerly picked up one of the boxes -- there wasn’t even any dust on them -- and turned it in his hands. “And you call me a dork.”

"You know what that _means_. You're definitely a dork." Bucky didn't appear the least abashed. Tony dropped onto the bed and covered his face with his hands. “Kill me now.” He peeked between his fingers, watching Bucky wander around the room, examining every little detail. “I feel like you are not going to use this knowledge for good.”

Bucky flipped through a stack of -- why the hell had his mother saved all his goddamn report cards? -- papers and awards. “Did you ever get a B in anything, Tony? Really?”

“Pretty sure if you go back to elementary school, I got a B in penmanship,” Tony said. That had been the first time his father had broken his arm. “Certified genius. Which, to my parents, meant that if I didn’t get straight As, I was slacking off.”

Bucky straightened the stack of papers, putting them down as if they’d suddenly become toxic. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I never met anyone who slacks _less_ than you do, babe.” He took a step to the side and picked up a photo of… “Wow, you look… young.” Bucky ran a finger over the glass, as if touching the side of fifteen-year-old Tony’s cheek. “Who’s your girlfriend?” He held out the photo. Oh, prom. Yay.

“Not my girlfriend,” Tony said. “I turned fifteen like... a week before prom, but my mom insisted that I had to go. And what normal senior was going to... Anyway, Janet and I grew up together -- you’ll meet her tonight, she’s actually pretty cool -- and she was stuck at an all-girls boarding school that didn’t _have_ prom, so she was pretty happy to have an excuse to go to one.”

Bucky’s smile was a little tight. “Oh. Yeah, I heard… that, when your mom was talking. Don’t you want a nice girl, Antonio?”

Tony growled a little at the old frustration. “Mom’s so old-fashioned... She’s too classy to say anything outright, but she’ll do this passive-aggressive poking around the edges like that.” He made a face. “Try not to let it get to you. I don’t need a nice girl, I’ve got an amazing guy.”

Bucky looked like he was putting himself back together one piece at a time, painstakingly careful. “Right. Okay, then.” He dug out his phone and lined it up with the prom picture. “Gonna send this to Nat. I always have trouble imagining you without the…” He made a circle around his jaw. “You look adorable, really.”

Tony stuck his tongue out and thought about protesting, but really, Bucky was being so amazing, despite all the craziness, Tony probably owed him a little blackmail and teasing material. “Fine,” he huffed, “but she’s _not_ allowed to put it on the wall.”

“No promises,” Bucky said, winking. He jerked his chin at the dresser. “If we’re gonna get… dressed up for dinner, for Christ’s sake, we should probably get hopping, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. He scrubbed at his face and stood up, swiped the credit card off the dresser -- it was fairly recent; the expiration date was still two years off -- and stuffed it in his wallet. “Let’s go shopping.”

***

Bucky couldn’t decide if this was a dream or a fucking nightmare; given that he spent a few minutes staring at the tailor’s scissors and having a very vivid fantasy about stabbing himself in the throat, he was going to with nightmare.

The tailors had been all obsequiousness as soon as Tony had stepped into the shop. _Mister_ Stark and _so_ glad to see him again, and how was his father, and who is your guest, sir? What the utter fuck was going on? Tony did the damn dishes back at Dockside, but it seemed like something distant and utterly impossible that Bucky’s sometimes ridiculous, sassy boyfriend was… high society New York famous.

Terrifying, really. Bucky was having trouble imagining Tony going home with him again. And every time he wandered down that chain of thoughts, he remembered, vividly, that Tony had _run away_ from this. How bad did things have to be to leave this kind of wealth behind without looking back? Bad.

Which was almost a good thought, in that Bucky was able to concentrate more on what Bucky was doing for Tony, as opposed to looking at all the things he _couldn’t_ do. And a bad thought, in that it made his shoulders bunch up and his fist ache for someone to punch.

The tailor who was poking at Bucky’s trousers with a tomato red cushion full of pins had not dropped the servile tones; apparently even redneck friends of the Starks deserved the full ritz treatment. Bucky stared at himself in the mirror while another woman took in the jacket with quick stitches. They’d get this put together and sent right over, she assured him. If he’d care to get Mr. Stark’s opinion, before…? And she gestured with one hand to the main floor, delicately.

Bucky fingered the jacket again. Steve hadn’t looked this put together, six months ago, at his own fucking wedding.

“I feel ridiculous,” he muttered, coming up behind Tony, who was picking non-existent lint off his sleeve and selecting a tie with a jerk of his chin.

“Everything in New York is ridiculous,” Tony said easily, turning. “It’s a... A...” His eyes went wide and he took half a step back to look Bucky over, top to bottom and back up again. “Holy fuck.”

“I’m supposed to get your approval, _Mister_ Stark,” Bucky said, trying really hard to keep the snide tone out of his voice. He didn’t even want to know how much this one meal’s clothing was costing. More than he could afford, he knew that much.

Tony took hold of Bucky’s tie and didn’t _quite_ use it to pull him closer, though the way Tony’s hand slipped down the shimmering fabric certainly suggested that’s what Tony _wanted_ to do. “I definitely approve,” he said, his voice low and hungry.

Bucky blew air hard, ruffling his hair. “Good. You’re payin’ for it,” he said, chewing his lip. “Christ, I could get married in this thing an’ look better ‘n half the guys I know.”

“Baby, you could get married in your jeans and look better than _every one_ of the guys we know,” Tony corrected.

“Pretty sure you were at Steve’s wedding,” Bucky said. Not that their wedding had been much; neither Steve nor Nat had anything remotely resembling blood family, so it’d just been a handful of crew and a judge, but Steve had stared at Nat like she was made of gold, and somehow they’d just looked beautiful. Bucky pressed just under his eyelids; his foster brother and best friend was so happy, it’d been very touching. Even if Steve was a world-class jackass sometimes.

“Yep, I sure was,” Tony agreed, slipping his hand down Bucky’s tie again. “And he did indeed look very fine. You’re still better.” He rocked up onto his toes and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “Go tell ‘em _Mister Stark_ approves and appreciates the rush job.” He didn’t disguise his own snide tone in the slightest.

Bucky nodded, went back to his side of the floor, and turned at the last second. Which was when he noticed that Tony’s outfit had been tailored, too. A little too well, really, because holy shit, his pants were tight enough to read the dates on the coins in his pockets. Good god, how did anyone expect him to get through dinner seeing _that_? And then he had to think of other, very unpleasant things, or the tailor was going to know just how much Bucky was appreciating Tony’s slacks (not slack _at all)_ and really, that was _personal_.

He pulled on his jeans and got dressed very quickly, then shot Nat a text.

_Not in kansas n e mor, dorothy. Fuck. fck me so much, this is… yeah_

New text from Nat: _I shall get the flying monkeys for you, if you need them_

_Might. Alredy met wikd witch of the north._

New text from Nat: _bring tony home safe._

_I will_

***

Howard had been installed in the Summer Maple room, just down the hall from the master suite. Tony remembered it very vaguely as being pastel and flowery, but the decor had been overwhelmed by all the medical equipment.

Since it was hospice care now, there was only a minimum of monitors, but there was a cot for the live-in nurse, and a curtain had been installed around that, and there was a whole new set of shelves with medicines and bandages and things Tony probably didn’t want to know about.

The enormous mirror that had been on one wall had been removed and replaced with a piece of art that clashed hideously with the room’s colors -- probably a temporary installation, until Maria could find something more suitable.

A hospital bed had replaced the antique bed that had been in the room before, and there were two chairs beside it. The chair closest to the head of the bed was padded and almost comfortable-looking; the other... less so. Well, Maria was probably the only one who spent much time in here.

He couldn’t really put off looking at the bed itself any longer; the rest of the room just wasn’t interesting enough to hold his attention.

Howard looked... small. Shrunken. His shoulders sagged as if they weighed too much, his neck slumped. His hair was mostly gone, victim to chemo and radiotherapy. The little that was left was clumpy and patchy and far more salt than pepper.  His skin was sallow and hung loose on his frame, and deep purple hollows underlined his eyes.

The eyes themselves, though -- they were sharper than Tony had expected to find them, watching Tony intently as he made himself take another step into the room. “Dad,” he said, and stopped. What else was there to say? _I’m home_? That was bullshit. _I’m sorry you’re dying_? _I’m_ **not** _sorry you’re dying_? Those were both true, in their way, but saying them wouldn’t do anyone any good. _You can’t hurt me anymore_ , was the refrain that throbbed behind Tony’s temples. Had been repeating, over and over, since he’d gotten that letter.

Howard rumbled, a deep aching sort of cough, then waved a hand wearily. “Anthony. Come in.” Even ill, even _dying_ , Howard could make a simple request sound like an order. Tony had to lock his legs for just a moment to keep himself from rushing into the room and taking a seat. And then Howard actually said, “please.”

That was new. Tony took another step, and then another, and cautiously perched on the edge of the chair.

What was he supposed to _say_? His mind was a mess of resentment and anger and betrayal and still -- _still_ , after all this time -- the lost little kid who just wanted his dad’s approval.

“Must say,” Howard said, then took a deep breath, “must say, I didn’t think you’d actually come. Just another of your mother’s fancies. Obadiah will be disappointed.” He pushed himself up a little in the bed, some hint of the harsh leader of men in his spine. “But you’re still a Stark, aren’t you? Made of iron.”

The line hit him with near-physical force, punching a grunt out of him. “I thought about not coming. I don’t owe you a damn thing. But my fiancé helped me see that Mom might need some support.” His eyes narrowed. “Why would Obie be disappointed? Mom said he was excited to see me. Who’s blowing smoke up my ass?”

Howard grinned, and that was frightening. He looked more skeletal than ever. “Been here near daily,” he said, then frowned. “I think. Damn pills have me muddled up. And Nurse Ratchet won’t let me drink. Obie’s been here. Trying to talk me into disinheriting you.”

“You hadn’t already?” slipped out before he could pull it back.

“No, I didn’t.” Howard stared at him, all gimlet eyes and firm mouth. “Told Obie I might, if you didn’t come back. Fun to watch him crawl in here every day, jump to that tune. Only bit of fun I get these days. He should know better. You’re my son. My _son_.”

 _Your son that you beat when he wasn’t enough like you,_ Tony thought. “You knew where I was,” he challenged. “Mom had the address. Ty told you, I’d guess, after I told him to go pound sand, by way of revenge. Why didn’t you just come _get_ me, if you wanted me here?” _Or try, anyway_.

“Here I am, sliding off the skin of the world by my fingernails,” Howard said. He shook his head. “Yeah, that little pissant came here, again. Whining. Wanted money, or influence. To tell me where you’d gone off to. Your mother gave him something, I think. Trivial. You’re well shut of him, Anthony.” He coughed again and fumbled on the bedside table for the glass of water there.

“Yeah, he’s a dirtbag,” Tony said, much as it pained him to agree with Howard. “Smoother than you ever were, though. He had me jumping through his hoops pretty well until he made a fatal mistake: he reminded me of you.” He was shaking, he thought, deep down. He couldn’t seem to _not_ pick this fight, couldn’t just keep his mouth shut or mouth platitudes. Why? Why did Dad always bring out the worst in him?

Despite dribbling water onto his expensive smoking jacket, Howard was laughing, quiet and barely there, but laughing just the same. “What a terrible legacy,” he said, finally. He got himself under some sort of control. “You left home and ran straight into another me? Oh, _Anthony_.” He wiped his chin off, then said, in a low, barely audible voice. “Would it help you if I said I regret it?”  

 _No. Yes._ “Do you?” He was shaking harder now. He wanted Bucky, wanted that unwavering support so bad... But they’d agreed Tony should go alone, this time.

“I regret,” Howard said, “that you won’t believe me now, no matter what I say. That I didn’t see. Didn’t realize. You were so, so brilliant. So very bright. So very much… more.”

Tony sighed, and it was almost like relief. “You still don’t get it, do you, Dad? You regret driving me away because of what I could have become. It still doesn’t occur to you to regret hurting me because _I was a child_.” He stood up. “Maybe I’m squandering my potential now. But I’m doing it of my own free will. I’m not terrified to the point of puking for every small mistake. All the pain that’s in my life right now is the result of tired muscles and hard work. And I am surrounded by people who love me. Not because of what I can give them or what I might be in the future, but because of who I am, _now_.” He looked down at Howard’s pale face. “Get some rest, Dad, and think it over.”

“Anthony,” Howard said. “I hated you because you were better than I was. You still are. And I am still petty enough to hate you for it. I don’t… I don’t regret failing to change you. You _should_ be better.” And Howard turned away, facing the wall, his shoulders narrow and bony as they stuck out from under the jacket.

Tony stared for another moment, refusing to be _dismissed_ like an errant lackey. Then he turned, and very carefully walked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the non-uber nerds in the audience: the [FX-7](https://www.jedidefender.com/collect92/fx7%20carded.jpg) medical droid is a character from _Empire Strikes Back_ that was on screen for all of about 15 seconds. The original run of Kenner toys didn't feature very many of this droid, and for that reason (and probably also because it's HIGHLY BREAKABLE) the ones that do exist tend to be in Very Poor condition.
> 
> It's highly valuable, even in moderate shape, and a mint-in-package copy would be quite costly.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony nudged Bucky’s chin up and tugged at his tie. The tailor had done this, too, when Bucky had tried the suit on, but all Bucky had felt then was overwhelmed and confused and slightly embarrassed. Now, with Tony doing it, close enough for Bucky to feel the warmth of Tony’s body, Tony’s breath puffing lightly against his neck...

“There.” Tony brushed down Bucky’s chest and stepped back, looking Bucky over possessively. “Now you’re fit for polite society. Or, as it happens, this bunch.” Tony grinned, eyes sparkling, and if Bucky hadn’t been there, he would never have guessed that Tony had just spent the better part of an hour crying in Bucky’s arms.

“Don’t think I ever heard of New Yorkers bein’ considered _polite_ society,” Bucky said, letting his accent hang thick in the air. God, he was hungry. What kind of society, polite or otherwise, waited until after eight to start dinner? Yankees, particularly New Yorkers, had a reputation in Sandbridge, and it wasn’t a good one. Bucky hadn’t seen much of that, so far; Tony’s mom might think she was being subtle, but she wasn’t. Bucky’d gone toe-to-toe with the tabbies in Virginia Beach and come out with claw marks on his forearms, but not much worse. He could handle a society matron. Even one who thought her son’s bisexuality was a _phase_ and it was high time for him to find a nice girl and make babies.

“What do I need to know?” Bucky chewed at his lip a little. He still hadn’t found out where the Stark’s money had come from, but he was a business owner, too, and even if it was on a much smaller level, the ideals of business were consistent. He could find a topic of conversation, hold his own. He hoped. _God, please don’t let me embarrass Tony._

Tony hummed, considering. “The Van Dynes are big names in fashion, but no one’s going to talk about that. I did let Janet pick out about eighty percent of my wardrobe for a few years there.”

Bucky fiddled with the ends of his hair; Tony’s mother -- for all the other things Bucky might say about her -- at least stocked the bathrooms well. He’d found, among other things, a pretty firm-holding hair-gel that kept his too-long locks tamed back in a slick, almost professional, style. “Great. And me with my shiny-new off-the-rack jacket.” He laughed, a bit nervous.

“She’s good people, promise. Little bit like Nat -- wants to take control of everyone’s lives -- but mostly because she just wants everyone to be happy. The only difference is, Nat thinks that starts with ice cream, and Janet thinks it starts with looking good. The Danvers are military. General Danvers was Dad’s Air Force liaison for years. He’s a bit of a windbag, but there’s enough military types back home, you know how to deal.” He grinned at Bucky. “His daughter’s Carol; she’s in the Air Force, too, though I don’t know what her rank is, these days. She went to the Academy a year or so after I left for MIT. She can be a bit hot-headed, but we got along pretty well most of the time.”

“If she’s Air Force, she’ll have been to Langley, at least once,” Bucky reasoned. The Tidewater area was one of the largest concentrations of US military bases in the world; every branch had at least one good sized base there. The MPs trained at Ft. Eustis, pilots at Langley, sailors at Oceana. Pretty much every branch of the military came through the area at some point in their careers. They got quite a bit of Navy down to Sandbridge, usually for the surf and to avoid the tourists. He could cope with some military bigwigs.

“And Obie-- Obadiah Stane, he’s Dad’s partner.” Tony made a face that Bucky didn’t know how to read. “He was always around when I was growing up. I basically treated him like an uncle. He... Dad seems to think he’s going to make a grab for the company when he kicks it.” Tony shrugged. “Not like I want it.”

Aaand, that was the guy that Bucky was worried about. Everyone in the house had said Stane’s name with some sort of emotion. There were undercurrents and Bucky wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to end up being tugged down by riptide. He took a deep breath and reminded himself of who he was. Business owner. Property manager. James Barnes…. Technically the third, but no one ever used it and Bucky’d stopped writing it down about the time his dad passed on, but he could drag it out, if he needed to. “Right. Okay. Is this gonna be one of those complicated which fork is what meals, or is that just in bad movies?”

Tony see-sawed his hand. “I wish I could tell you no, but if Mom decided she needs to show off to make up for the fact that I’ve been gone so long... it might be. But if that’s the case, everything comes in courses, so just keep an eye on me or Mom, whoever’s closest, and use whatever we’re using.”

“This --” Bucky made a half gesture, indicating the space between Tony and him “-- am I outing you on a grand scale, here, babe? Should I be braced for that?”

Tony shook his head. “Outed myself when I was fourteen in front of a much bigger crowd than this, making some kind of point. I don’t know, I was fourteen.” He shrugged. “As far as most of them were concerned, the scandalous bit wasn’t that I like guys, it was that I had the poor taste to get into a fight with my dad in front of everyone.” His smile grew a bit strained. “People like these... they’re very concerned about keeping up appearances, no matter how fucked up things are on the inside.”

Well. Bucky would take comfort in the fact that he probably couldn’t mess shit up with Tony’s family worse than it already was. “Let’s slay, babydoll,” he said, and drew Tony in for a quick kiss. He intended it for Tony’s comfort, but found himself drawing strength from the motion of Tony’s mouth on his, reminding himself that everything important was right here in his arms, and the rest of it was just… window dressing.

Tony rested his forehead against Bucky’s. “This is all bullshit,” he said, quiet. “I don’t care if we shock them or piss them off or... whatever. _I don’t care_. I’m doing this, I’m trying to keep the peace. But at the end of it all, I’m going home with _you_ , and I don’t really care if I ever see any of these people ever again.”

“You’re my home,” Bucky said, tapping Tony’s chest lightly. “It’ll be fine. I promise.” God, he was such a _liar_ , it was astonishing that birds didn’t perch on his nose. _Fake it 'til you make it._

They’d barely made the hall before the dining room when Bucky heard a sound reminiscent of the Surry nuclear meltdown sirens. “Aaaaaaaaaah, Tony!”

Tony was promptly tackled by a woman wearing impossible shoes and a butter-yellow dress that should have been hideous and somehow wasn’t. She had a short, bob haircut and flawless skin. “Tony, Tony, Tony! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I don’t know why I’m _yelling_! Oh my god, Tony! I’m so, so, so very happy to see you!”

[ ](https://novarain01.tumblr.com/post/164272476011/)

Tony laughed -- the first genuine pleasure he’d directed at anyone other than Bucky since they’d reached New York -- and picked her up and spun her around. “Don’t make me deaf,” he warned, amused. “I’ve missed your buzzing, Wasp. It’s good to see you.” He set her down, and how the hell she didn’t fall off those ridiculous heels, Bucky had no clue. “Here, darling, come meet my fiancé.” He pulled her toward Bucky. “Bucky, Jan. Play nice.” He directed that squarely between them. 

“Engaged?” Jan didn’t even look at Bucky; instead she snatched up Tony’s hand to inspect his ring. “Papa said that your mom said that you said that you were getting married. Nice, very low key. It looks good on your hand. What have you been doing, though, Tony, your hands are a _mess_! I’ll get you some good moisturizer. So… fianc --” She stopped, looked up at Bucky and then her eyes widened. “Oh my gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd! Oh, Tony, you _have_ to let me dress him, oh, my god, oh my god. Look at _that man_ , Tony.” 

Tony was grinning at Bucky so wide he looked like his face might split, a pleased flush on his cheeks. “I’ve been looking at him for months now, darling, and my inner monologue is still pretty much just like that.”

Bucky blushed as Janet turned him around, pushing him with her tiny hands. “Look at this, holy crap. I… do you have an agent? You should totally have an agent. I mean, Tony, your ass is great, but you’re too short for runway work. I could have your man front page in _months_! I’m totally jealous. Like, _eaten_ up with it, darling.”

“Tony, please save me,” Bucky said, swallowing hard. “I think I just met someone scarier than Nat.”

[ ](https://novarain01.tumblr.com/post/164277018371/)

Tony laughed and gently pulled Jan away from Bucky. “Hands off, he’s mine. And he’s not a model, he’s a property manager and he owns a restaurant. He’s too busy to model. You’ll have to content yourself with helping me build his wardrobe.”

“Oh, can I really?” Jan made fists and bounced around, excitable. How the hell didn’t she topple over? Bucky inhaled and ran one hand through his hair, sticky with the product.

“Heh,” Bucky said. “She should see Steve, really, if she’s goin’ on about _me_. It’s nice to meet you. Tony’s had nothing but good to say about you.”

“Well, of course,” Jan said. “I’m amazing. So, what are your plans, Tony? Well, I know you’re not in town long, but… I want you to meet someone. Papa wouldn’t let me bring him tonight, intimate family affair and all, but I think I found him, finally. _The one_. You’ll like him. Maybe. Kinda.” She lowered her voice. “He _hates_ your dad, so you’d have that in common, at least. Oh --” her voice went back up “-- Papa’s waving us over, I must be doing something wrong. Again.”

Tony just stood there under the onslaught of her chatter, smiling and nodding and not even trying to get a word in edgewise. When she skipped off toward the extremely dapper older man down the hall, Tony tucked his arm through Bucky’s. “Come on, let’s go in. You know, one of these days you’re going to stop deflecting every compliment about your looks with ‘but Steve’. It’s a whole different kind of pretty, apples and oranges.”

“Is she serious?” Bucky worried. “About putting together a wardrobe? I mean --” Not that he had anywhere to wear the sorts of clothes that were apparently dinner appropriate. “This is like, the rich-people version of ‘let me get you something to eat?’”

“Well, it’s the Jan version of it, anyway. I told you -- they’re in fashion. Jan’s been dressing me since she was about eight. So yes, she’s perfectly serious, but don’t let it bother you, I’ll go along and make sure she doesn’t go overboard. She’s very down-to-earth. But she has opinions even about things like jeans and t-shirts, and she will _not_ hesitate to share them. I survived mostly by just agreeing with everything she said.”

The dining room was… large. At least as long as Dockside’s main dining area, if not quite so wide, with one ridiculously long table down the center, although only the chairs near the far end had been set for dinner. The decor was pale yellow marble and there was an inlaid teak floor with intricate patterns. Maria Stark, sticking with the same obnoxious traditions of many of Bucky’s aunts and his grandmother before she died, had arranged the seating so that he was nowhere near Tony; he had a huge bald man to his left, who introduced himself as Obadiah Stane, and Jan on his right, with Tony across the table and two seats down, which would make conversing difficult.

Tony was seated between the other older man, General Danvers, and a blonde woman with a severe haircut and stiff way of sitting. Probably his daughter, based on what Tony had told him. Maria, of course, was at the foot of the table, and she smiled with absent-minded fondness at the group as she took her seat.

“Oh, here it comes,” Jan said, her voice pitched to carry to Bucky’s ears alone. She managed to talk without looking like she was moving her mouth at all, all her attention seemingly directed down to the end of the table. “At least it’s Maria, and not Howard giving the speeches. I could probably recite Howard’s speeches by rote. _Stark men are iron_. Hmph. Heard enough of them over the years. You’re not missing anything, though, tiresome windbags. Oh, there, nod your head, darling, she’s introducing you. Oh, god, I’m bored already. Poor Tony, he looks mortified, did she say… no, of course, she didn’t. _God_. Thank you for sparing me, I don’t want the Starks as in-laws, ever. Not that Tony’s not a dear, because he _is_ , you’re so lucky. But I don’t think I could face it, every holiday, listening to… oh, there, she’s all done, how lovely. _Smile_. We were clearly paying attention, yes indeed.”

Bucky coughed into his hand, once, trying to hide the smirk. “Tony said you were worth befriending,” Bucky said, sincerely. “If you ever take it into your head to come down to Virginia Beach, I have some folks I’m _dying_ for you to meet.”

Janet grinned and patted his hand. “That sounds lovely. I haven’t been to a beach that wasn’t the Jersey Shore in _ages_.”

***

Tony picked at his dinner and tried to keep an eye on Bucky while making polite small talk with General Danvers and Carol. He’d forgotten that Maria was likely to split them up. But at least Bucky had Janet next to him; that was a small blessing. They looked like they were getting along well, too, which was a relief.

But Tony wasn’t sure he could trust Obie not to start grilling Bucky about every little detail of their lives, and Obie was the kind of guy who steered a conversation by main force.

“I understand you’ve come to rest down in Virginia,” General Danvers said. “You anywhere near Langley base?”

“It’s about an hour north of us,” Tony said. “Lots of military folk in the area.” He glanced to his other side. “Have you been stationed at Langley, Carol?”

Tony had gotten a lot of looks over dinner, but Carol shot him a death glare. “Pilot training,” she said, shortly. “Which you would _know_ , if you’d so much as bothered to call your mother in the last several years.”

Tony was taken aback; he’d never been as close to Carol as to Jan, but they’d usually gotten along. “It’s been a trying time for all of us,” he said neutrally.

“Has it?” she asked, eyebrow going up. “What have you been doing with yourself, then?”

Jesus, he thought he’d be safe from the _make yourself useful_ line with his peers... “Well, since I moved to Virginia, I’ve taken on the assistantship of the restaurant that Bucky owns, as well as some property management. Doing some repairs and renovations to fill the gaps in my schedule.”

General Danvers leaned around to grin broadly. “My Carol’s made Captain,” he told Tony, sincerely pleased. “We had quite the bash for her, last year. Vernon’s girl did the gown for her, she was quite lovely.” He paused, took a large sip of wine. “Her mother and I are very proud.”

“Of course you are,” Tony agreed. “It’s quite the accomplishment, even considering those family connections.” He nodded to Carol. “Congratulations, Captain.”

Conversation shifted again, especially as Carol got caught up in some talk across the table with Obie’s son Ezekiel, who was currently working as a hedge fund manager in one of Obie’s financial firms. Which gave Tony time to watch across the table as Obie put one huge hand on Bucky’s shoulder and was talking to him, his words a mumble but his tone of “I know better than you” clear even several seats down. Bucky was looking attentive, almost subservient, which would please Obie, but the way he was clenching his fork in one hand, knuckles white, didn’t bode well.

“Obie, what nonsense are you filling Bucky’s ears with over there?” he called, putting on a light, teasing smile. “You’re not telling him about that time I tried to climb the wall into the zoo after hours, are you?”

“Your young friend here and I,” Obie boomed, his voice dominating the table and conversation fell into a hush, “are having some debate over recent sustainable fishing regulations. On differing ends of the consumer market, we are. You’ll talk him over, I have no doubt. Government should stop meddling in manners of business, am I correct?” He directed that at the table in general.

Oh, God. Not only did Bucky have a business to run that often depended on the hauls that smaller fishing boats took in, but he worked closely with Nat, who had a Master’s degree and an unfinished doctorate in oceanography and conservation and was -- in her spare time -- an activist for ecological balance in the coastal waters.

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. “Come on, Obie; you’re not going to drag politics to the dinner table, are you? You’ll give us all indigestion. Besides, you’re monopolizing Bucky and leaving poor Jan with no one to talk to.”

“But,” Jan said, fluttering her lashes, “I’d _love_ to hear about Tony climbing over the zoo wall. I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” Jan was such a fibber. She’d heard that old yarn at least a half-dozen times that Tony was _aware_ of. But it distracted Obie, which was a godsend, so Tony was willing to groan and pretend to be embarrassed as Obie talked up Tony’s middle-school antics.

When the dessert course finally came out, Tony was exhausted and trembling inside, just from conversation. He’d forgotten over the years, just how hostile and barbed “polite society” could be. Ty had been a climber, but he’d never reached this level; probably never would. Not that Ty wouldn’t have fit in perfectly, a venomous snake just like the rest of them.

Maria raised a glass and welcomed her son home with another one of her carefully prepared speeches; going over Tony’s accomplishments and pretending there were no gaps in the history. Quite a lovely little bit of nonsense, really. And it might have been counted as a successful evening, except just after Maria’s toast, Carol turned to him with another black look.

Carol scowled. “I know you went to war with Howard,” she said, her voice cutting, cold. “But you might have considered the casualties.” She flicked a glance in Maria’s direction. “I don’t _care_ what happened, Stark. You shirked your duty, and I don’t hold to that, not at all. You should be ashamed.” And she picked up her fork and turned her back on Tony.

His _duty?_  What the fuck was she talking about? Tony tried to catch her eye, but she remained pointedly turned away from him through dessert and coffee, chatting lightly with Mrs. Van Dyne on her other side.

It wasn’t until everyone was preparing to leave and making their farewells to Maria that Tony was able to catch Carol’s elbow and pull her into a quiet nook. “What the hell was that about?” he demanded in an undertone.

Carol studied his face the way she might have viewed a combat map. “You _stupid_ child,” she snapped. “Did you ever think what would happen to your mother, leaving her alone? With Howard Stark? Every year, Dad drags us over here for holidays and dinners and every year, she’s just a little more… gone. Ask her about her watch, for fuck’s sake. And it’s so nice and dignified, and she’s not causing a scene, so we can’t _talk_ to her about it, but… Ug, you make me sick, Stark.”

Tony looked past Carol, to where his mother was reciting vapid pleasantries for the Van Dynes, and suddenly everything fell into place: her vacant expression, the fixed set of her smile, the way she constantly fiddled with her damn watch... Son of a bitch.

A warm hand cupped the back of Tony’s neck. “Hey babe,” Bucky said, coming up behind them. “Captain Danvers, I believe I heard.”

Carol nodded sharply. “Mr. Barnes,” she said, then turned her attention back to Tony, not caring if Bucky heard her or not. “You left a man behind, Stark. I won’t forgive you for it. You _help_ her, dammit.” She gave Bucky a mostly cordial nod. “Pleasure, I’m sure.” And she turned on her heel, military sharp, and walked away.

“What the hell?” Bucky asked. “That looked. Intense.”

Tony let her go, eyes still on his mother, but let Bucky pull him closer. “She was... making me aware of certain changes that have occurred in my absence.” He pressed his lips together. “Tell you about it when we’re alone.”

“Okay.” Bucky paused, then, “I didn’t make promises on your behalf, but your bouncy little girlfriend wants to ‘do lunch’ and I don’t know, it sounded like she wanted to do a fitting, for both of us? She seems to think we’re staying up here until the wedding.”

“The wedding that we haven’t set a date for, yet?” Tony asked, letting his amusement at Jan’s enthusiasm bleed through his worry. “I might let her take measurements, but we’re definitely not staying any longer, and we’re definitely not getting married in New York.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He flicked a glance around. “Is there anywhere I could go have a damn smoke before I crawl right out of my skin?”

“Yeah, c’mon, let’s go for a walk or something.” A little fresh air would do them both good.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about 3/4 smut, for those who prefer to avoid that sort of thing -- once Tony and Bucky get back from their walk, it's sexytimes from there to the end of the chapter. :)

Maria waved off her guests before returning to the front parlor. She’d always liked sitting there. The delicate blue velvet wingback chair was her favorite in the house and the paintings calmed her. She fretted; she shouldn’t need calming after a dinner party, she’d always loved dinner parties. Her friends, and her son, and her son’s… boyfriend had looked so pretty and happy. She should be happy.

She opened her watch and took a pill, letting the bitter taste on her tongue linger.

“Maria, darling,” a familiar booming voice said. “I thought I might stay a little, have a nightcap with you.”

“Obadiah,” she said, looking up. He held a crystal wine glass out to her and in the faint light, she thought it was port before she took her first sip and nearly choked on Howard’s single-malt. The liquor burned in the back of her throat, but it wasn’t the first time she’d sampled it. “It was good of you to come.”

“Anything for you,” Obie said. “I didn’t know Tony was going to be marrying a man.”

“Well, of course, none of us expected that,” Maria said, delicately. “I don’t even know what I shall do about it. Not that I can. You know Antonio, so determined to go his own way.”

“I do,” Obie said. He swished the whiskey around in his own glass before downing it with a hiss of satisfaction. “I can have a word with the boy --”

Maria took another long swallow of whiskey, looking for courage in the bottom of the glass. “I’ll not have you badgering my son, Obadiah,” she said. Well, that sounded good, at least. “I only just got him home.”

“Of course, Maria,” Obie said. He patted her hand -- when had he moved so close? Maria didn’t like that, he was too tall, too broad, and it bothered her neck to look up at him. “As always, I’m guided by your judgement in these matters. I was only thinking of Howard’s legacy.”

Grandbabies would have been nice. Maria fiddled with her watch. Family. It was sad to think of Howard leaving her, and being alone in the house. Grandbabies to spoil would have made it easier, but of course, Antonio would do as he would do. “I’m sure everything will be well, Obadiah. You’ve always taken very good care of our little family. It’s a comfort to rely on you.”

“You always can,” Obie promised. “I’ll be right here. And I couldn’t love you and Tony more than if you were my very own.”

That was… kind. Of course it was. Maria considered the wine glass and its whiskey for a long moment before taking another sip. She didn’t even notice the burn any longer. Yes, yes, everything would be just fine. Obie would take care of them, after Howard left her. She knew he would. He was such a very kind man. She finished off the glass and set it down on the end table.

***

Tony’s idea of fresh air was sorely lacking, but Bucky decided since he was puffing it up with cigarette smoke, he probably shouldn’t complain. “I suppose that wasn’t so terrible,” he said, finally.

Tony glanced up at him, and snorted. “Liar. That was pretty awful. But at least you looked amazing for it.”

“Your dad’s partner had a lot of questions,” Bucky said. He pulled in a long drag of smoke and blew three rings, which faded quickly. “Fun times, listening to Jan wanting us to stay on one side, and Stane wanting you _gone_ as soon as your dad’s in the ground.”

Tony sighed. “Well, I guess that confirms what Dad told me. I wouldn’t put it past him to lie to me if he thought it would make me do what he wants, but I know you’re trustworthy.” He looked up at the lights on the buildings all around them. “If it wasn’t for Mom, I’d be happy to give him everything that he wants.”

It was strange how everything pressed down on him; the sky should have been as far away as it always was, but somehow the amber lights drowned everything out. It felt like a giant bowl had been upended over the city, squashing everything underneath. Claustrophobic. It was ridiculously late for having just finished dinner, but the streets were still humming with life. Jan had tried to convince Bucky to grab Tony and go get drinks after dinner, and he’d had to remind her that they’d been traveling since very early.

“Your inheritance,” Bucky said, slow. “All this, and most of a controlling share of stock, I’m told.” Obadiah had been… wordy. Detailing Tony’s new responsibilities and how Obadiah didn’t think Tony was ready for that sort of job, that he’d be better off… and of course, the poor boy hadn’t even finished his schoolwork, even though he’d never wanted to study business, and hadn’t his father indulged him in that, and look where it got them? An uneducated, unprepared heir to a smallish empire. Bucky scoffed.

“I never wanted the company in the first place,” Tony said. “The rest of it -- all _this_. That’ll go to Mom before it comes to me, but I’m sure as hell not going to just sign it all over just because Obie snaps his fingers. I mean, I don’t want the house, either -- godawful thing -- but it sure would be nice not to have to worry about money so much, you know? We’re still picking at those bills from the Polar Plunge.”

“The only time I _really_ worry about money is when my sister is around,” Bucky said. “The rest of the time, it’s just borrowing trouble. But swear to god, there’s a soap dish in that bathroom that’s probably worth our entire house. Oh, and I’m informed that you play piano, and did I have an instrument for you to practice on?” Bucky rolled his eyes. The questions and asides he’d been getting all evening had been designed, he thought, and polished in private, with the sole purpose of making him feel small. Insignificant. It was getting to him, but he was trying real hard not to let Tony see. Things were hard enough on Tony without Bucky’s insecurities making it worse.

“Oh, god, who told on me?” Tony grumbled. “I haven’t touched a keyboard in _years_.”

“That would be Mrs. Danvers, I think. She was the one in that awful green dress, right? With the hair all --” Bucky made a gesture around his head like pouring soft serve into a twist. “You said the Van Dynes were fashionable, and I don’t think I met a Mrs. Stane, so yeah, I guess that’s right.”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Tony chortled at Bucky’s hair gesture. “Busybody. Mom taught me, when I was tiny, and we used to play together sometimes. It’s not like I’ve been yearning to get back into it or anything, though, or I’d have been pricing out used ‘boards on Craigslist or something.” He glanced at Bucky sidelong. “Sorry you got thrown right into the shark tank, your first night in town. I’d hoped to have time to at least get you a wetsuit, first.”

Bucky snubbed his smoke and tossed it in a nearby trashbin. He took Tony’s hands and pulled him up against the building wall nearest them, tucking them into the shadows near a staircase. “No one can make me feel inferior without my consent,” Bucky said. He’d been reminding himself of that all night. “Nothing that happens here changes _anything_ , unless you want it to, baby. We’ve got a whole life at home that don’t care _nothing_ about all this.”

“I know. That’s pretty much all that’s keeping me going right now,” Tony confessed, burrowing into Bucky’s warmth. “Love you.”

Bucky closed his eyes, drew strength up from Tony’s words. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, baby. Love you, so much.” He nuzzled at the top of Tony’s head, feeling the prickle of his hair. “Still wanna hear you play piano. That sounds cute. Let’s get back indoors, yeah? This… makes my skin all prickly. Not _much_ safer in the house, but at least I can keep eyes on everyone.” He wasn’t going to ask if Tony was planning to stay with him in that impossible guest room with its gold hangings and lace everywhere, but Tony’d seemed a little flustered about his own bedroom. And for christsake, they were _adults_ , and didn’t need to be chaperoned in their alone time.

Tony laughed, a little shaky. “Okay, you want to hear the worst rendition of Chopin ever, come on, I’ll play you a lullabye before we go to bed.” He cocked his head. “Gotta swing by my old room and grab my bag; we forgot it last time.”

They turned the corner just in time to see Obadiah come down the stairs and step into a cab. “I thought he left already,” Bucky said. He hadn’t liked that man at all. Reminded him a little too much of Pierce, even though Alex had been much… smoother. Obie was more like a bulldozer, but Bucky was familiar with men overused to getting their own way.

“Maybe he stopped to look in on Dad,” Tony said. “Or have a nightcap with Mom; they used to do that sometimes, the three of them, after a party.”

Bucky shrugged. Wasn’t his business, really. “You suppose the walls are thick enough in that gold bedroom for me to make you moan?” He took a deliberate step back so he could admire Tony in his jacket.

Tony stumbled a little, sucking in a breath, and then gave Bucky the wicked smile that always got his blood hot and his heart racing. “Honey, the nearest person to us is gonna be at least four rooms away. I want you to make me _scream_.”

Hmmmmm, that sounded so good. Bucky let Tony draw him back into that huge house and then Bucky was crowding him against the wall to rock against him, kissing Tony quite thoroughly. There was something wicked and illicit in the idea of making love with Tony inside his parents’ home; and in another, more primal way, it was staking a claim. Tony was his lover, his fiancé, his husband-to-be, and Bucky had every right to strip Tony naked and take them both to heaven.

And Tony’s arms were wrapping around his shoulders, hands pushing into his hair, Tony’s body rolling up against his, Tony’s mouth hot and open and pliant under his. “Bucky, god, yes,” Tony whispered. “Please, honey, yeah.”

Bucky kissed Tony, sucked on his tongue, gasping and groaning into Tony’s mouth then said, “You lead the way, I’m not sure I can find that bedroom again,” which was only partially true, but letting Tony lead, he’d get to enjoy the view. God, Tony looked amazing in a suit, just perfect. Like nothing Bucky’d ever seen before, all leggy grace and narrow waist, and knowing, _knowing_ that what was underneath was his to enjoy and that Tony craved Bucky’s hands and skin and touch as much as Bucky wanted to give it to him.

Tony panted for a few seconds, catching his breath, then stepped back with a nod. He shrugged out of the suit jacket and slung it carelessly over his shoulder like a goddamn model. He walked off down the hall, glancing back with that smug smile of his, knowing damn well Bucky was staring at his ass, and basking in it. “Well, come and get it, then.”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice. Damn, his man was _fine_. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Tony had chosen him; god only knew he’d probably gotten better offers, and… shit, didn’t matter, Bucky was going to take what he was given and be fucking grateful for it. Jesus, though, watching Tony walk was a blessing. Bucky let him get ahead, just so he could chase Tony down, catching up to him at the turn and damn near tumbling him onto one of the sofas that dotted the corridor. (Because really, someone wanted to have a chat in the fucking hallway? The decor around here made no sense whatsoever.)

Finally, Bucky recognized the door where the driver had placed his travel bag and ducked ahead to open it, ushering Tony in. Bucky admitted, he didn’t restrain himself from stealing a leisurely grab at Tony’s perfect backside, either, as he crossed into the room.

“Forgot my bag _again_ ,” Tony pointed out as Bucky tipped him back onto the bed. “Is this a plot to make me sleep naked?” He pushed the jacket off Bucky’s shoulders and went to work on the buttons of the shirt.

“Before I saw you in this suit,” Bucky said, low and fervent, “I’da said nothin’ looks better than you, naked. But now I gotta sit down and think it over.” Which was a fucking lie, because he was doing absolutely nothing of the sort aside from peeling Tony out of that suit as fast as he could without tearing it. He jerked the belt open and ran an exploratory hand over the front panel of those too-tight slacks.

Tony hissed and jerked, and yeah, he was absolutely as into it as Bucky was, hard and radiating heat through the fabric. “Same,” he rasped, though he was slipping Bucky’s belt free of its loops and tucking his fingers under the waistband. “God, baby, you look amazing, dressed up like this.”

Bucky got the buttons undone and pushed the undershirt out of the way, too eager for Tony’s skin to bother with stripping him all the way, just yet. He pressed a kiss against Tony’s stomach, just over the waistband. Felt Tony suck air and did it again, a flicker of tongue against sensitive skin, mapping the territory with his mouth. God, Tony was sweet. His skin was flavored by expensive shower soap and he smelled more like vanilla than usual, a little floral, too. Whatever. Bucky liked it, loved it, wanted, needed. He nuzzled at the faint line of hair just under Tony’s belly button that disappeared into his slacks.

Tony slipped his hands into Bucky’s hair, stroking through it lightly. “Yuck, hair goo,” he complained, but he didn’t stop. “Nnggfff, Bucky, do that again.”

Bucky ran both hands up Tony’s thighs, pushing them apart and settling between them, half on and half off the big expensive bed with its horrible duvet. The bed was super soft, Tony was sinking into the mattress. Bucky teased at Tony’s inner thighs with his thumbs, nuzzling at his belly. “This?” he said, licking at Tony’s skin, “or this?” He sealed his mouth over Tony’s skin, sucking the blood lightly to the surface, then soothing it down with a few puffs of cooler air.

“Tha-AAAA-t,” Tony gasped, surging up into Bucky’s touch, shifting restlessly under his hands.

Bucky got a finger in between the waistband and Tony’s skin, teasing all the way to the small of his back, the base of his spine where Tony was so sensitive. “Mmmmm,” Bucky murmured, letting his lips vibrate against Tony’s stomach as he talked. “You are so gorgeous, so damn beautiful, I don’t… I don’t deserve it.” He licked and nipped his way back up, pushing the shirt up and out of the way before it stuck again, bunched around Tony’s armpits. “Here, sit up a second, baby.” He stripped out of his own shirt, not caring at all that the cufflink was still stuck in one sleeve or that one of his buttons popped off in his haste.

“Don’t talk bad about my man,” Tony chided, but he sat up and watched hungrily as Bucky undressed. “God, that’s hot.” He reached out, ran fingertips lightly down Bucky’s arm, smiling at the way it made Bucky shiver. “You wanting me, that much.”

God. Bucky closed his eyes, leaning into Tony’s touch, aching for it. “Who wouldn’t want you? You’re _amazing_.” He reached for Tony, blindly for a moment, then opened his eyes again, hungrily peeling him out of that fancy suit, tossing the shirt aside. He gave in, nipped at Tony’s neck and shoulder, licking and tasting the skin there, until Tony was limp and lolling back under his mouth. Where… ah, there was the fastener for Tony’s slacks; he tugged it open, then got the zipper down, slid a hand inside to tease at Tony’s shaft, the thin fabric of his boxers adding to the soft slide.

“Oh ffff--” Tony arched against Bucky’s hand with a moan. “You’re gonna kill me.” Tony wrapped a hand around Bucky’s neck and tugged him in for another kiss, heated and deep and a little bit sloppy with wanting. Tony’s hands were fumbling at Bucky’s pants, and then a hand slipped inside to curl around Bucky’s cock.

Bucky sank into that kiss, relishing the taste of Tony’s mouth, the faint prickle of his facial hair against Bucky’s lip. Bucky kissed Tony, open-mouthed, seeking, demanding. He tasted heat and dark need, Tony’s innate grace as his tongue moved and danced along Bucky’s lip. Bucky ran his hand over every inch of skin he could find, tugging at clothes that got in the way, cursing under his breath with need. Finally, frustrated with the layers of cloth between them, Bucky stood all the way up and stripped with a few quick movements. He bent to tug off Tony’s shoes, grabbed hold of the cuffs of his slacks and yanked, forcing Tony to arch his hips up to let them slide off.

“Want you, want you so much, baby,” Bucky murmured, returning to claim Tony’s mouth. He ached for the feel of Tony in his arms, writhing and moaning, did what he could to drag Tony into a state of wanton abandon, kissed him slow and sensual. The feel of Tony underneath him was like a drug; he could never, ever get enough.

Tony squirmed, settling more comfortably into the soft bed with Bucky laid over him like a blanket, his arms wrapping around Bucky’s back and covering Bucky’s skin with idle swirls and loops, sometimes a barely-there tickle and sometimes a firm press into tense muscle and sometimes a drag of nails that left trails of fire in their wake. He kissed Bucky like he was coming home, sighing and moaning into Bucky’s mouth, soft little sounds that made Bucky crazy in the best possible ways.

Catlike, Bucky pressed up against Tony, stropping his cheek across Tony’s chest before turning to lick at his skin, scraped his teeth against one plump, perfect nipple until it peaked under his mouth, licking delicately at the sensitive flesh. He pulled back, teasing the tip with his tongue as Tony pushed into the touch, grinning as Tony whined. He relented, suckling, as both hands smoothed down Tony’s sides, brushing at his hips. Bucky curled his hands there, encouraging Tony to thrust up against him, pure animal instinct.

Tony’s breath hitched and caught as he did. “Bucky, oh god, honey, _god_... Want you, all of you, need you.” Bucky’s teeth dragged over Tony’s nipple and he jerked and writhed, keening wordlessly.

Bucky returned to Tony’s mouth to claim another kiss, stroking the roof of Tony’s mouth with his tongue. He explored, slow and sure, kissing Tony’s jaw, nipping at his ear, tasting his throat. Hands leading the way, he moved down the entire length of Tony’s body, touching, stroking. He didn’t even pretend, merely pressed a few kisses along Tony’s cock before traveling even further down to lick at the back of his knee and swirl his fingers over Tony’s ankle, claimed every inch of him with kisses. He clung to his self control with both hands, wanting to savor every second of it, every single sensation, every sigh and moan.

Tony tried to sit up, to roll them over to give Bucky the same treatment, but Bucky resisted, a quick shake of his head as he pressed Tony gently back down. Tony hesitated, and then capitulated all at once, spreading his limbs out and tipping his head back in offering. “You’re really pulling out all the stops tonight,” he said, punctuating it with hard breaths and whines and gasps as Bucky explored. “God, baby, you make me feel so good.”

Bucky knew exactly what he was doing -- and sort of hated himself for it, but he couldn’t help it. This was all he had to offer, and there was this subtle (and not so subtle) tug of war going on for Tony. For his attention, for his affection. Bucky would have to be blind not to see how everyone was shoving Janet at Tony, the money, the house, everything that Bucky couldn’t compete with. He’d take his turn in trade, make Tony drunk with it, unable to think of doing without.

He slid back up, nuzzling at the base of Tony’s cock with his nose before licking a teasing line right up the vein, tasting the sweet essence there, pure Tony.

God, Bucky was hard, and he _ached_ , burning with desire. He knew if Tony put so much as a hand on him right then, he’d go off like a firecracker. The taste and feel and sound and smell of Tony was just sublime, ate at his self control.

Tony’s hands were fisted in the blankets, twisting, and his body was taut like a bowstring. “Oh... oh god, please, Bucky, Bucky, honey, I need you, need you so bad--” He broke off with a desperate cry. “ _Bucky_.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Bucky whispered, then kissed Tony’s thigh. _Shit_. Where was his… ah, there. He grabbed his bag, dug through it until he reached the bottom, grabbing his toiletries pack, where he’d stashed condoms and lube. When he returned, stretching out to lay against Tony’s side, he was tossing his head from side to side. So gorgeous.

Bucky couldn’t resist, rutted against Tony’s thigh, feeling the rough scrape between them, so, so good. “You want it, baby?” He lubed up his fingers, slid his hand between Tony’s legs and waited, god, he was gonna make Tony beg for it. Tony was so beautiful when he was needy and desperate.

“God, yes. Want you, need you in me,” Tony panted, squirming in search of that touch. “Please, Christ, _please_.”

_Hnnnnnnnnnnnng_. Tony was so perfect like that. God, Bucky wanted him, wanted to just… God. _Take it down a notch, Barnes._ Good advice, but he wasn’t sure he could manage it, teasing as he had been. He circled Tony’s hole, felt the flutter of muscle there, twitching and squeezing down as he pushed a fingertip against it. Distracted himself with thoughts of Clint doing the books back home. A long, racking shudder twisted along his spine. He pushed his finger in, slow, using his thumb to tease at the ring of muscle there, watching Tony intently, reading all those sweet expressions on his face. “I gotcha, baby,” he said, “gonna make it so good for you.”  

“Always --ohfuck-- always do,” Tony said. He rolled his hips, trying to push down harder, deeper. “We can... We can make this a fast prep, right?”

“Sure, sure,” Bucky lied. _Not happening, Tony._ Bucky grinned, twitched his finger and watched Tony writhe, squirm as Bucky played it out, opening Tony up, slow and easy and thorough. He slicked his hand again, went for two fingers, scissoring Tony out. “It’s all right… there we go…” Tony was slick, shiny with sweat by the time Bucky was up to three, and had stopped making sense a while ago, all incoherent pleading and swearing.

About half the time they had sex, Bucky let Tony put the condom on him, but Bucky wasn’t sure he wouldn’t explode on contact tonight. He worked it on as quick as he could manage.

Bucky spread Tony’s legs wide, hooking one knee over his elbow, before he pressed the head of his cock against Tony’s hole. “God, look at you, baby,” Bucky breathed, almost lost himself as he slid in that first inch, felt the ridge of his cock grind against Tony’s muscle.

Tony whimpered and clutched at Bucky’s arm. “Come _on_ ,” he demanded, “get in me, now now now.” He bit his lip and _twisted_ , like he was literally attempting to screw himself down onto Bucky’s cock. “Need you so bad...”

Bucky lost his grip on his self-control, thrusting all the way to the hilt with one swift stroke, feeling his need shred and tear against his skin, wanting to fuck, pound Tony into the mattress. “Oh, God, baby.” He rained blind, careless kisses down on Tony’s forehead, nose, and chin, then tucked his face against Tony’s throat as he rocked himself in, feeling Tony’s body struggle to adjust to his invasion, and then… oh, _oh_ , like that, the tight clench eased and accepted. One deep quiver was all it took and Bucky shuddered along with him. His hips moved of their own accord, rolling with Tony’s, thrusting deep and claiming him. Perfect, perfect rhythm.

Tony groaned, a deep sigh of relief that spiraled into a needy whine at the end. “Oh, _god_ , yes,” he breathed, right into Bucky’s ear, breath sending a ticklish skitter down Bucky’s spine to collect with every other sensation. “Jesus, that’s-- Oh, Bucky, sweetheart, yes, you, _you_. So lucky to have you, love you so much.” He pressed his mouth to Bucky’s shoulder, sucking hard and then licking over the spot.

Bucky lost himself in the roll and clench of Tony's body. There was no Bucky anymore, just a mess of feelings and desire and need. Enslaved to his passion, Bucky strained, worked in to bring Tony as much pleasure as he could. He pulled back a little, cool air rushing between them. Bucky was slick with sweat, his belly sticky with Tony's precome.

He braced himself on one hand, traced a line up Tony’s swollen cock. “There you are.” Bucky wanted to tease more, but he didn't think he was gonna last much longer, the tight pull of Tony's body was a siren’s call he couldn't resist. He twisted his hand, stroking Tony's dick, giving him pressure, a little squeeze.

Tony let out a shuddering groan and thrust hard into Bucky’s grip, babbling and swearing and pleading for more. Another handful of strokes and Tony was trembling with the effort of holding it back. “Oh god, fuck, I don’t... I can’t... Bucky, baby, I’m gonna--”

“Yeah, that’s good, baby,” Bucky said, soothing, his voice breaking. “I… yeah, come on, I need it… need you to…”

Tony let out a noise like a sob and thrust once more into Bucky’s hand, and again, and then cried out as he came, body shaking in Bucky’s arms, hands gripping hard enough to bruise.

Tony’s cries made him ache, twisting their way up his spine. He snarled with it, mouth coming down tight on Tony’s shoulder, teeth scraping along the collarbone. “Yes, yes,” he chanted. “Give it to me, I need…” The rhythm of it took him, shook him, until there was nothing left and he arched and screamed and shuddered uncontrollably, shattering into a million little pieces.

It was a long time, or perhaps no time at all, before Bucky was aware of anything beyond the sweat-soaked skin and the heat seeping off him slow, and the warm, comforting body underneath his. “God, am I too heavy, babe?” He tried to figure out which parts of his brain operated his arms, to push back and away, but it was slow going.

“Mmmph,” Tony managed, languid and sleepy, which meant that at least Bucky didn’t have to _urgently_ figure out how to roll off of him so he could breathe.

Eventually, enough of his brain came back online for him to figure it out, a little bit. He couldn’t be bothered to go far, though; he flopped to one side, tied off the condom and tossed it vaguely in the direction of the little trashcan he’d seen earlier, and went boneless again.

Tony didn’t even twitch, except to push his foot between Bucky’s ankles. “I may never move again,” he announced. “Wedding’s off. Can’t be bothered.”

“Mmm,” Bucky said, not even opening his eyes. “Don’t know if I could top that performance anyway. Better for you to hold out for someone with more stamina.”

“Well, now that’s just lazy,” Tony said. “Stamina can be trained up.”

“I don’t know who I’m supposed to practice with, if the wedding’s off,” Bucky said, reasonably.

“I didn’t say we couldn’t still fuck,” Tony said. “I’m here in bed, you’re here in bed, it seems perfectly logical. I just don’t want to have to, y’know. Get up and go be vertical and not in bed for as long as a wedding would take.”

“We’ll get Clint to get a cert to do weddings off the internet. He could just come in and say ‘do you?’ and promptly fuck off again.” That seemed like a bad idea, somehow, but frankly, Bucky couldn’t be bothered to straighten out the logic.

“Hmm.” Tony considered. “Okay, acceptable. Wedding’s back on.” He made a groan of monumental effort and rolled over enough to curl around Bucky like a determined octopus.

“Oh good,” Bucky said, soft. “I hate to think how much ice cream we’d owe Nat if I had to tell her she couldn’t be a matron of honor.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

“The restaurant is fine, Bucky,” Nat snapped into the telephone as soon as she picked it up. “Stop worrying.”

Bucky checked the hall again; no one was in sight. Maria had dragged Tony off -- alone -- to pay morning calls, whatever that meant. But it didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone around. “That’s not what I called about,” Bucky said, dropping into Russian. It wasn’t likely that the maid service or the cook spoke Russian.

“Then what is it you need?” Nat slipped into Russian with the familiarity of stepping onto an old and comfortable pair of shoes.

“I need you to tell me I’m not screwing up,” Bucky said.

“ _Are_ you screwing up?”

Typical Nat. Bucky would have almost smiled except he was too goddamn worried. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I don’t think so, but… oh, god, Nat. Tony’s family is _loaded_. Not like, upper middle class, but like… multi-millionaire sort of loaded. Did you know that?”

Nat hummed thoughtfully. “He did not say as much, but there have been indications that he knows how to handle a higher range of society than merely Sandbridge. What does this have to do with how _you_ are screwing up?”

“I can’t give him _anything_ like this life,” Bucky said. “I mean, Dockside’s doing well, an’ all, but it’ll never be like this. It’ll always be work, hard work, that keeps us flush.”

“Tony has never shown himself to be unwilling to work hard,” Nat said. That was reasonable, of course it was. Tony was the damn dishwasher and busboy, even if he had taken on rather a lot of administrative stuff. Watching Bucky struggle over the books, he’d finally taken those away, with an “eidetic memory, and I happen to love math,” and did them in half the time, with fewer mistakes.

Tony had also organized the marketing campaign set to gear up for the next Season, a genius of strategy designed to lure customers down from the more popular Virginia Beach. If those worked half as well as Tony’s projections, they’d need at least two more full time employees to keep up with demand, and have the money to pay everyone legally.

None of which had kept Tony out of an apron, or from doing the various repairs and upgrades that the aging building had required.

“If you are saying to me that you believe -- after all we have been through together -- that Tony can be bought, can be tempted and lured away from us by _money_ , then yes, you are _screwing up_.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky admitted, “that the next time he says the wedding’s off, he means it.”

“Are you telling me you think that Tony does not love you?”

“No!” Bucky didn’t even want to think that, he certainly wasn’t -- shit. _Shit_. “Thank you. I didn’t need to go there. Really.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Nat said. “Tony loves you. You have been gone less than two days, and nothing short of a catastrophe is going to change that. If you are feeling uncertain, _tell him_. I have no doubt he will stop teasing if he knows it is hurting you. But, you might instead stop looking for trouble.”

“He left home to get away from his _father_ ,” Bucky said, finally giving voice to the real fear. “Tony’s dad is going to die, and the sooner, the less pain he’s going to be in while he does it.”

“And Tony will inherit money,” Nat said. “That is a good thing, yes? And is no reason that he will not come home with you again.”

Ug. The whole thing made him very uncomfortable. Not that -- well, not that Tony hadn’t taken his charity, even if Bucky had never meant it in such a fashion.

“Allow Tony the dignity of his choice,” she said. “He must damn well think you’re worth it.”

“God, I hope so,” Bucky said, voice breaking. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“I believe that is a thing you will not need to find out,” Nat said. “But I will buy you ice cream, if I’m wrong. It helps.”

Bucky laughed. “Ice cream isn’t the answer to everything.”

“Such lies!” Nat said. “Perhaps not the answer to everything. But it is the answer to everything _else_.”

***

Tony kept one hand on his mother’s elbow as she climbed back into the Bentley -- not that she needed his help, but he’d been drilled on this formality since he had been deemed old enough to accompany her on her visiting rounds. God, he’d forgotten how utterly tedious this was, but it was almost worth it to see the way she preened and sparkled.

Maybe Carol’d had a point. Of course, after some thought, Tony felt like he had a point, too, which was that a seventeen-year-old shouldn’t be expected to be his parent’s sole emotional support. But Carol hadn’t been entirely wrong, either. He could’ve at least written occasionally.

“Thank you, dear,” Maria said, and Tony backed away so Happy could close the door.

Tony caught Happy’s arm. “Hey, Hap... I know there’s no privacy screen in this one, but... ears off for the drive home, okay?”

Happy raised his eyebrows, but nodded. “You got it, boss.”

Tony settled into his seat and studied his mother as subtly as he could. She was wearing more makeup than he remembered -- was that an aging woman’s vanity, or was she hiding the waxy pallor the drugs gave her? Her hands trembled, very slightly, and she fidgeted with her watch, absently but constantly. Her gaze was distant and dreamy, and Tony honestly couldn’t remember if that was new. How the hell did he approach this? He considered the length of the drive, and decided he would have to be fairly direct.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“Of course, darling,” she said, looking out the window rather than at him. Her fingers stroked the watch face again, a habit she would have deplored several years back. A lady was supposed to be serene, at all times. “Quite well. Very happy to have you home.”

“It’s just... I know it must be hard for you, with Dad and all. A lot of pressure and worry.” Maybe, if he gave her a socially acceptable excuse, she wouldn’t back away so fast.

“I confess,” she said, lightly, “I never expected to outlive your father, dear. He has always been so… vigorous. Full of determination. Truly, I don’t know how… well, I’ll manage, of course. It’s what he expects.”

What he expects, god. Tony had known that his mother had been fairly sheltered, raised to be exactly what she had become: a society wife, the sort of woman whose only goal in life was to support her husband. Tony wondered what she might have done if she’d been left to her own devices. Or at least had a less... determined husband.

It was, he realized, what Ty had been trying to mold him into. _There but for the grace of god go I_ , he thought, though it certainly hadn’t been any kind of god that had made Tony walk out. If he were the kind of man who believed in God, though, he might’ve suspected divine inspiration leading him into Bucky’s path, though.

He took a breath. “That’s what the pills are for, then? To help you manage?”

Maria glanced at him, sharply. Probably the sharpest he’d seen from her since he’d arrived. “They’re… for my nervous complaint, Antonio,” she said. “I had a bad patch, after you. Well, and your father, he was so… my heart, it wasn’t working correctly. I had these attacks, you see. I couldn’t breathe, and my heart was wild. The medication calms me.” Her entire hand was over her wrist now, hiding the watch completely.

Tony nodded. _Stay calm, you can’t just yell at her. That's what_ he _does_. “That’s good, Mom, I’m glad you got some help with that.” He took her hand and patted it gently. “I’m glad you’re looking out for yourself. But these shakes... I wonder if the doctor might have written the dosage wrong, is all.”

Maria looked down at her hands. “Am I shaking?” She blinked at him, the sharpness in her gaze gone again. “I didn’t notice. I’ll… well, perhaps it’s just the excitement.” She drew one hand out from under Tony’s and held it up as if she might be able to stop shaking just from willpower alone. “I… hmmm. I hadn’t… seen that before.”

“These things sneak up on you,” Tony said. “But I’d hate to think of it getting worse. You’ll call the doctor this afternoon, right? Are you still seeing Doctor Blake?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Antonio,” she said. “You know I don’t like to change, once I find the right person. I’m afraid, perhaps, I haven’t been looking after myself as much as I should. Of course, your father takes precedence, but...” She flashed a tiny smile. “I need to be strong for him, while he cannot be for himself. It’s good of you to care, darling.”

“Of course I care,” Tony said, a little surprised at his own vehemence. “You’re my mom. And you can’t take care of Dad if you’re not keeping your own health up, you know.” He grimaced; much as he hated it, Maria lived for Howard. He’d use that for her own good if he had to. And he’d call Doctor Blake as soon as they got back to make sure the doctor knew what was up.

“Well, you haven’t needed much mothering, these last few years, Antonio,” she said. She patted the side of his face gently. “Look at you, all grown up. I shall be all at loose ends, given that you won’t be giving me any grandchildren to spoil rotten.” Maria laughed lightly, as if she was making a joke, a tad on the risque side, but Tony wasn’t fooled. That was as clear a signal as if she’d straightened up, pointed a sword at him and declared herself _en garde_.  

Tony felt equally dismayed and relieved -- that was the sharp and determined mother he remembered, but oh _lord_ not this. “We’ve got a dog,” he tried. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“And your… _part time dog_ is going to accompany me to the toy store, that I might spoil it mercilessly and pump it full of sugar before sending it home? Antonio, darling.” Maria sniffed at him.

Tony grinned. “Okay, first of all, Lucky would probably _love_ that, he eats the weirdest things. Second, you are not really making a case here for me _wanting_ to let you spend time with my child, it would just make my life miserable.”

“Nonsense, darling,” Maria said. “Children are a blessing, second only to a happy marriage.” For just a moment, the society matron mask slipped and Tony saw a glimpse of the woman he hadn’t called _Mama_ for years. “He does make you happy, does he not, Antonio?”

“Happier than I’ve ever been,” Tony said, without even having to think about it.

“Well, that’s good, then.” She was absently tapping on the watch face again. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Your father has his own notions and plans, but I only ever wished your happiness.”

***

Bucky wasn’t quite sure who’d let Janet Van Dyne into the Starks’ house, except that it wasn’t him. Because if he’d seen her coming up the walk with the piles of boxes and bags she had in her arms, he might have barricaded the door.

As it was, he was hard-pressed not to flee for his life.

“No, no, no, darling,” she said, putting bags on the floor and tossing boxes on the goldenrod bedspread. “That will never do. You’re not fit to be seen in public. Here, take that off -- oh, for goodness’ sake, stop that; I see naked people all day -- and try this on. You’ve got no sense of your own colors.”

Bucky took a deep breath and realized he had exactly two choices: he could run screaming (and she’d probably find him and drag him back) or he could submit to being treated like a life-sized Barbie doll. The second option seemed a little more graceful, if no less mortifying.

“You’re gonna do this to Tony, too, right?” he asked. She’d pushed him onto the floor on his knees and was sitting behind him doing god only knew what to his hair.

“Tony’s less work,” she pointed out. “He already knows what looks good on him, or at least, he should. If he’s forgotten everything I taught him in the last six years, I will be very put out.” She rubbed something that smelled vaguely like furniture polish between her hands and then smoothed the mess over his hair. “We’re going to meet Hank for a late luncheon. He’s a senior optical engineer at his uncle's company. Tony will adore him. Probably. If they don’t hate each other right off the bat. It’s hard to tell with Hank. But I _think_ he’s getting ready to pop the question soon. So!" She diverted, and only years of practice keeping up with Nat let Bucky keep up with the change in topic. "I’m curious, did you ask Tony, or did Tony ask you? Tell me _all_ about it, I’ve missed all the good gossip. Maria’s a dear, sweet woman, but she’s a touch behind the times.”

“I asked,” Bucky said.

Janet squealed. “So romantic… go on, tell me all about it. What did you say, what did he say? Well, I mean, of course he said _yes_ , and it’s so obvious that --”

“I’d tell you about it,” Bucky interrupted, “if you hush up a minute.”

It seemed important to him that she understand he’d had no idea who Tony was, or what sort of background he came from. That Tony had showed up in Harry-Rex’s hardware store looking for work right at the time that Bucky needed a full-time employee. That he hadn’t fallen in love with Tony because Tony was rich (he really, really wasn’t; damn near every dollar Tony had was one Bucky had paid him, and Bucky couldn’t afford to pay that well) or because Tony was beautiful (although he _was_ , and Bucky couldn’t deny that) but because Tony was sweet and hard-working and he fit in well with Bucky’s found family.

At one point, Janet put down the comb she was attacking him with and sniffed. “He could have come to me,” she said, scowling. “I would have… wired him money or something, if he’d just asked.”

“I think Tony needed,” Bucky said, slowly, “to know that he could do it himself. That he could earn a place without having someone else give it to him, or pay for it. I think… honest, I think I fell in love with him, watchin’ him blossom.”

Janet sniffled again, wiping at her eyes, then poked him, hard, on the side of his neck, where she’d already complained he had a very noticeable hickey. “I think you fell in love with him because you can’t keep your hands off his ass.”

“Well, that, too,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “It’s a _very nice ass_. I really can’t be held responsible --”

“Are you waxing poetic about my ass again?” Tony said, opening the door. “And to whom-- Oh, Jan. That’s all right, then; she knows all about my fabulous ass.” He looked tired, the suit pants and shirt rumpled, but he greeted them both with a warm smile. He threw his phone on the bedside table and leaned down to kiss Bucky. “Hi there. I see Jan wasted no time in coming to molest you.”

“I don’t need to molest him,” Jan informed Tony primly. “You’ve already done that. What I need -- and I need it, Tony, _I need it!_  -- is to make him look presentable. Honestly. I am not taking you two out to lunch and have some wild photographer snap a photo and suddenly baseball hats and ironic tees are back in fashion. No. That’s not happening.” She batted at Bucky with the comb again, and then said “All right, I suppose you’ll do. Now, go put your shirt on, so we can go out.”

She huffed and got up from the bed, straightening out Tony’s tie and brushing out wrinkles. “He won’t change in front of me. That’s just adorable, Tony, really.”

Bucky scowled at her, grabbed the outfit she’d decided on. “This woman is a menace,” he said, before ducking around the wall to the dressing room. (Really. Dressing _room_. Full length mirrors and a vanity and a few clothing racks, which was completely separate from the bathroom.)

“That’s a thing normal people do,” Tony told Jan. Their voices were only slightly muffled by the dressing room door. “Or don’t do, whatever. Getting undressed in front of near-strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger!” Jan said, affronted. “I’m _me_!”

Bucky pulled on the jeans and struggled with the buttons -- Jesus, how was he supposed to breathe in these? -- and a thin purple tee, along with a black sport jacket. And boots, which were very expensive-looking and absolutely useless, as far as Bucky was concerned. Boots were for work, and these… did not look like they’d hold up a week under the sorts of conditions Bucky needed heavy footwear for.

Whatever. Apparently ‘looking good’ was a full time job around here.

“There,” he said, stepping back out. Jan had been straightening Tony up, but seemed to feel he did not need her expertise quite so badly, as she hadn’t already attacked him with comb or any of the outfits in her myriad bags. “Presentable?”

Tony raked Bucky with his gaze, mouth curved in a delectable smile. “Not bad on short notice,” he told Jan. “You okay being seen in public with us now?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t _drool_ on him, Tony,” Jan said, whacking Tony in the shoulder with the comb. “I suppose you’ll do. Helps to have good raw material to work with. Come along, boys. We’re going to go have fun!”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Tony had grown up in New York, and was therefore immune to its many wonders. The sights and attractions that tourists flocked to were, by and large, either too far off the beaten path to pay attention to, or an annoying clog in the flow of traffic. Watching _Bucky_ experience New York, however, was absolutely worth the price of admission.

Bucky tried hard to play it cool, but Jan was enthusiastic about _everything_ , and eventually, it spread to Bucky. They took pictures posing ridiculously in front of recognizable landmarks, to be texted to Nat and Steve and the others with appropriate movie quotes. They nibbled at snacks from food trucks and street vendors. They stopped to listen to buskers.

And the whole time, Bucky’s eyes were lit with excitement and wonder, and he kept glancing at Tony, as if to make sure Tony was enjoying it, too. Watching him, Tony fell in love all over again.

Jan finally dragged them off to what was looking more like early dinner than late lunch; her boyfriend, Hank, kept texting her with delays until she called him and yelled over her cell for at least three minutes, not caring at all that she was blocking pedestrian traffic, one finger in her free ear.

“I swear,” she said, tucking the phone back in her bag and smiling as if she hadn’t just been threatening to peel Hank’s skin off and using it as a wallet, “he’s worse than your dad, as far as letting go of his damn job.” She fluffed out her hair. “He needs me. He just hasn’t quite figured that out, yet.”

Bucky flushed at that, a little, red creeping up over his collar. He gave Tony an almost apologetic smile. “Yeah, reckon that’s not unique to New York City.” He put a hand on the small of Tony’s back and they followed Jan as she walked right into the street, ignoring the traffic and blaring horns, to flag down a taxi.

“And yet, we still managed to get our acts together,” Tony pointed out, leaning into Bucky’s side. He hoped he liked Jan’s... whatever-he-was; Jan had an immaculate eye for style, but not always the best judgement of personality. Not that Tony had a perfect track record, either.

Jan had a sixth sense about cameras, and managed to turn them at the right time to give a best-side view when someone snapped a series of flash-heavy photos, just as they entered the restaurant. “See?” she said, “this is why you have to dress to impress. I mean, it’s me, darlings.” She laughed a little and then the maître d' was leading them back to a table.

Hank Pym… was _not_ fashionable, which was something of a surprise. He wore a rumpled suit at least ten years out of date, and he was older than Tony would have expected, but his face lit up when he saw Jan and he kissed her cheek before helping her sit. He had a tablet out on the table and poked at it a few times before sliding it into his briefcase.

“Sorry I’m running behind, yes, Jan, I know… again. We had a client deliverables meeting run long. You must be Anthony, I’d know a Stark anywhere. Hank Pym.” And he offered a hand. “Pym Tech. You haven’t heard of us yet, but if the Clarity catches on like we’re expecting, we’ll be as big as Apple by this time next year.”  

Pym’s handshake was firm but brief, a little distracted; Tony had encountered worse at MIT. There was something about the scientific mind, maybe. Tony introduced Bucky, and as they were taking their seats, followed up with, “That’s an impressive claim for your product. I’m interested to hear more. What is it?”

“Oh, God,” Jan said, clutching at Bucky’s arm with both hands. “We’ve lost them now. May as well elope to Tahiti together and spend our nights desperately imagining that the other is our true love.”

“I’ve heard it’s a magical place,” Bucky said, agreeably. “Wedding’s off.”

Hank didn’t even notice, just pulled out his tablet again and pulled up the specs for the Clarity, a 360-degree camera system that he swore would practically revolutionize vehicle travel, provided, of course, they could get the regulations passed that would allow it to be street legal. He had a quick elevator pitch, and when Tony asked a few questions, delved deeper into the project.

Cameras weren’t Tony’s field of expertise, but he liked what he heard. He was about to ask more in-depth questions when something hard poked pointedly into his shin. He looked up to see Jan on the verge of a rant.

“And... we should probably stop talking shop,” Tony said, shooting Jan and Bucky an apologetic grin. He took Bucky’s hand under the table. “I’m going to have to do something extra nice so you won’t run away with Jan, huh?”

“Oh, no, you already lost, Tony,” Jan said, snuggling aggressively. “He’s going to be my front-line model and we’re going to be so stupidly busy traveling all over the world and making money that he won’t even have time to miss you.”

Bucky about choked on an appetizer at that.

Hank peered over the rims of his glasses at Jan. “I thought your new line was going to be unmentionables.”  

Jan made Vanna White arms in Bucky’s direction. “Look at this man,” she said. “He could totally be an underwear model!”

Bucky turned pink, immediately disproving that theory. “No, no, I could _not_.”

“Only for a very, very small audience,” Tony corrected. “Namely, his fiancé. You know, assuming the wedding is back on.” He made big sad eyes at Bucky.

Jan frowned. “One fiancé and one photographer? I’ll do up a whole boudoir set, just as a special wedding present, for really, just one set of publishable photos?”

“Tony…” Bucky whined. “Make her stop and the wedding’s back on.”

Tony snorted. “Babe, you know I love you more than life itself, but I’m pretty sure that not even a runaway train could stop Jan. Superman, I am not.” He pointed across the table at Jan. “At least start a little simpler. He’s shy. You wouldn’t believe how long it took _me_ to get his clothes off.”

Hank was poking his phone, despite Jan giving him a death-dagger stare. “I find it’s easier just to give in gracefully. Saves time.” He tucked his phone away again, and gave Janet a smile that was so tender and full of love that Tony suddenly felt like he was looking at something intensely private. “What, darling? You said, lunch, and to be nice to your friends. I’m doing that. And yes, I’m paying attention.” He recited back to her the last five things she’d said, word for word, including enunciation. Which was rather impressive, because Jan tended to go on at about eighty miles an hour when she got to talking.

Jan softened and then threw her arms around Hank’s neck, nearly throttling him in her enthusiasm to kiss him soundly around the nose and cheek several times. “Isn’t he _perfect_?” she gushed.

Well, Tony didn’t know about that -- Hank was about the furthest from what Tony would have imagined for Jan -- but he seemed to make her happy. That was the important part.

Hank actually put away his work and paid attention for the rest of lunch, which was mostly Jan gossiping about people Tony hadn’t seen in years (most of whom he wanted to continue not seeing for even more years). Hank sometimes piped in with vaguely relevant technology developments, or asked Tony’s opinion on this or that startup business. Bucky jumped in on a couple of the startup discussions, from a business owner’s perspective, but mostly spent the meal taking pictures of all the food and texting them to Steve.

Which led to an all-parties-involved conversation on cuisine and regional food-stuffs, and Bucky coming firmly down on the politics of sustainable fishing, which Jan was supportive of (dolphins are cute, what, stop laughing at me, Hank!). Bucky brought out his phone again to show Jan several of the shots (including that damn magazine spread; could Tony not ever get away from it?) of the Dockside crew surfing.

By the time the lunch... dinner... meal was over, the actual dinner crowd was in full swing and the sun was beginning to lower.

“Dancing?” Jan suggested, her eyes bright. “ _Please_ tell me you dance,” she demanded of Bucky.

Bucky laughed. “I’m not sure Tony wants to dance with me again. The last time, I dropped him on his ass. Literally. I think he even had a bruised tailbone. Not my finest moment.” He glanced at Tony. “But I did watch _Simply Ballroom_ a few times.”

Hank made a face. “I think I’ll bow out,” he said, and patted Jan’s hand. “You have fun, though, dear.”

“None of the clubs are going to be worth going to for at least another three hours,” Tony pointed out.

“That’s okay,” Jan said. “None of us can _possibly_ go dancing dressed like this, anyway. We’ll need the time to change!”

“Yep,” Bucky said, licking at his lower lip. “This is _exactly_ the equivalent of ‘can I get you a little something to tide you over?’”

“Why?” Tony asked, eyes inevitably drawn to that lip. “Did you need a little something?” He forced his gaze back up to Bucky’s eyes, and grinned. “Though the clubs around here don’t really have enough dance floor space for the tango.”

Bucky pressed one hand over Tony’s chest, just over his heart. “You remember. Feel the rhythm, right here.”

“Oh, god, I changed my mind,” Jan declared, meaning it not at all. “You two are disgustingly schmoopy and I don’t want you anywhere near a dance floor. You’ll just end up embarrassing yourselves.”

“You love it,” Tony tossed at her, not looking away from Bucky. His hand was warm and his eyes were full of amusement and affection and _god_ , Tony loved him.

Tony grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna?”

“Oh, why not? I always envied Clint and Bobbi for going on adventures, might as well have one, right?” Bucky asked. Then, with a very mock-disdainful tone, he eyed Janet. “Does _she_ dance?”

Oh, god. Tony put a hand over his eyes so he wouldn’t have to witness the carnage that Jan was undoubtedly going to unleash for that. “Well, now you’ve done it,” he sighed. “Now we _have_ to go.”

Jan rather crisply informed Bucky (and Tony, and probably the surrounding two blocks) that the Van Dynes practically _invented_ dancing and she was going to make him look like an idiot for even _suggesting_ that she not know how to dance, and Bucky had responded with a fucking Jane Austen quote. At which point the nearest five blocks heard Jan squealing that she’d found her new best friend and was never, ever letting him go back to Virginia, and come on, clothes, we must have new clothes, and better shoes and--

Hank shook his head and grabbed Tony’s elbow before Jan hauled him into the cab. “Here. When you come into your inheritance, we might want to talk about venture capitalism.” He slid Tony a card. “You seem a better sort than your father, who wanted my cameras for a weapons system.”

Well, of course. Weapons systems were what Stark Industries _did_. That was one of the reasons Tony had wanted out in the first place. Tony just smiled and slipped the card into his pocket, though, and forbore explaining Business 101 to Hank. He’d learned early on that a lot of science types genuinely did not understand how business worked.

Jan grabbed his wrist and yanked. “Come on. Bye Hank! Mwah! Love you! Good lord, Tony, have you forgotten everything since you’ve been gone?” She practically climbed across his lap to kiss Hank and then gave the direction to the driver.

“Well, this should be exciting,” Bucky said. “Remind me I agreed to this when I’m having serious buyer’s remorse tomorrow.”

“You’re assuming I won’t be suffering the exact same thing,” Tony said. “But it’ll be worth it.”

***

Janet breezed them past the line with a wave of her black credit card and Bucky just knew that when he looked back at these memories, they were going to get soaked in a haze of guilt for not being able to afford any of this on his own, but for right now, he was just going to stuff that shit in a back corner and enjoy the hell out of everything.

Jan didn’t seem to be the least bit put out by the amount of money she was spending, and based on the way Tony just rolled his eyes, it was something she did normally. Probably her other friends took their turns picking up the tab. She did seem to have a lot of those, as they were barely in the first club when she was kissing and hugging and squealing with any number of other people, including one very, _very_ queer man named Jack who was crowding a little closer to Tony than Bucky was happy with. New York’s version of Thor, maybe.

On the other hand, the experience of clubbing seemed to transcend state lines. The music was a little better, the sound system higher quality, but the drunk party people and the press of the crowd for dancing was pretty much the same.

Tony exchanged a few words with Jack that Bucky couldn’t hear over the throbbing music, and then took Bucky’s hand and pulled him deeper into the club, leaving Jan to her little social circle. Tony threaded through the crowd with agile grace, and Bucky was hard-pressed not to bump into too many people or spill anyone’s drink as he was towed along in Tony’s wake.

Tony finally pulled up deeper into the club, in a spot right on the edge of the dance floor, and turned, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck. “Impress me,” he said, grinning wickedly.

Dancing; that was a thing he could do. The same muscles and grace that served him well on a board with the whole ocean at his command were useful in a crowded room, with the music like a second heartbeat under his skin. His club moves were pretty basic and limited to what you could do with a dance space about the size of a dinner plate, but what the hell? At least the second pair of pants Janet had thrown at him (and he was getting more used to the casual nature with which she undressed, truly, other people’s bodies did not seem to matter to her, aside from an aesthetic pleasure) were stretchy enough that he wasn’t at risk of splitting a seam.

Bucky drew Tony closer until there was nothing between them but heat, one hand on Tony’s hip. _Look at me like you’re in love._ Bucky moved, feeling the beat, eyes on Tony, who was looking back just as intently. Bucky wondered how he’d missed it for so long; Tony had almost always looked at him like that. Bucky let himself be warmed by it, cuddled into it. Even if _cuddly_ was nothing like what his dance moves were.

Tony moved with him, sinuous and flexible. They hadn’t really danced together since that first disastrous attempt. Well, there had been a show-offy sort of tango thing at Nat and Steve’s wedding, but that had been different, dancing for an audience. Despite the club’s crowd, there was no one else in the world right now but the two of them. And despite lack of practice, Tony moved with him like they were telepathically linked. Maybe it had to do with all the horizontal dancing they’d been practicing, that sixth sense about where Bucky was going to go and which way he would lean and exactly how slow he’d roll his spine.

Everything else disappeared; the club, the other sweaty bodies around them, everything was irrelevant except the man in his arms and the music. Right up until Bucky happened to look away from Tony’s eyes for a second and saw a flailing, drunken body moving right toward them, entirely out of control. Bucky moved without thinking, practically lifting Tony out of the way and hip-checking the drunk. Which actually fucking hurt when two hundred pounds of overmuscled gym rat battered into his side, but at least he didn’t lose his footing. The guy muttered something, drunk and incomprehensible, which Bucky decided to interpret as an apology. Bucky nodded, made sure the guy was stable, and gave him an urgent little shove in the direction of the bathroom.

“Well, that was rude,” he murmured, knowing Tony couldn’t hear him, not even sure if Tony could read his lips in the flicker of light. “You okay, babe?”

Tony leaned in, his lips brushed Bucky’s ear as he spoke. “My hero. Keep going, or go somewhere else?”

Bucky rocked his hips, moving Tony along with the beat. “Can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”

They got one more dance in before Jan and her friends invaded their space -- apparently most of Jan’s friends were women, and they used the excuse of Tony and Bucky to be able to dance without having someone getting to handsy with them. Bucky sighed and allowed Jan to pass him around like a party favor -- it was the least he could do to pay her back for the clothes -- and found himself in a fairly athletic bounce-and-sway with a leggy blonde who said her name twice before Bucky just shrugged. It didn’t matter in the slightest.

And even working their way through the women, who’d pretty much marked off a corner of the dance floor for Jan’s personal party, Bucky was achingly aware of where Tony was at all times. He sometimes managed to catch Tony’s hand for a moment, and for one particularly memorable dance, he’d found himself caught between Tony and Jack for a grind that had him half-hard and a little muddle-headed while the girls cheered them on.

Jan kept everyone topped off with drinks; Bucky thought vaguely that someone should introduce her to Nat, and they could all sit around and see which tiny woman could hold more vodka. But she appeared to be enjoying herself immensely. Finally, dizzy and out of breath, they staggered back to a VIP lounge that Jan paid for and Bucky ended up with a somewhat tipsy Tony in his lap.

Tony was laughing at something one of the girls had said to him. Bucky had no idea what it was, and really didn’t care, because Tony was laughing and snuggling up against him, arm around Bucky’s neck and occasionally nuzzling Bucky’s jaw and ear. “Having fun, honey?” he said.

“I’d say it was the best vacation ever,” Bucky said, rolling his head back to encourage Tony’s mouth, “but this is the only one I’ve ever had.”

“Not fair,” one of the girls said, “why do you always bring the guys who are _taken_ , or _gay_ , or _both_?”

Jan smacked her friend with her sparkly little evening clutch. “Because that time I brought Eric clubbing, you complained he was like a magnet all night and would not get off your ass.”

Tony nibbled at Bucky’s throat. “We should take you on more vacations. With more fun, and less of my parents.”

Bucky struggled a moment to keep his smile natural; Tony was right in his element here, and Bucky couldn’t help but respond to it. Guilt dropped into his stomach, like he’d picked some rare and precious flower and was trying desperately to transplant it to a window box. “We’ll think of something good for a honeymoon, at least,” Bucky offered. He’d already started a small account for that and had Nat combing travel deals.

Tony tipped his head, frowning slightly. “You okay, baby?”

Bucky leaned in closer, nuzzling at Tony’s ear. “I’d be better if Jean wasn’t sticking her foot under my ass every time she thinks I’m not looking, but yeah, this is fun.”

Whether Tony knew he was lying or not, he didn’t have time for it, since Jan came back with a waitress and a whole tray of multicolored shots. _Buyer’s remorse_ , Bucky thought, grabbed something that was pink and orange layered and smelled like lemonade. Most of his friends were beer drinkers, but Bucky had always preferred fruity, sweet drinks and Jan was challenging them all. Ah well, there were cabs, and that was definitely a good thing.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky was no stranger to Goldilocks Syndrome. He’d woken up with sore thighs and wondering  _who’s been sleeping in my bed_ more than once. It had been a long while -- he’d given a lot of that up after his stint in jail -- but it wasn’t a sensation that was easily forgotten.

What _was_ unfamiliar was waking up with his head resting against a small but shapely and extremely well-waxed thigh. He blinked a few times, trying to figure out where the hell he was and realized he was staring up a girl’s leg.

A girl who _wasn’t_ wearing the brilliant yellow-and-black sequined clubbing outfit she’d been wearing the last time he’d seen her. At least she was wearing _some_ clothes, even if it was a pink pair of short-shorts and a tank top. Jan’s makeup was smeared across her face, giving her the appearance of a raccoon, and she had a matching streak of eyeshadow across one hand.

Bucky was just starting to feel a weird, creeping kind of dread when he realized someone’s hand was firmly on his ass and there was morning wood pressed against his knee. He managed to tip his head just enough to look; yes, there was Tony, wrapped around his thighs like a drunk octopus.

So, at least if he’d lost his gold star, his fiancé had been with him the whole time.

_Jesus Christ._

He needed a glass of water so bad it qualified as a 911 emergency, but he was currently pinned down by a sleeping Tony.

“Where the hell are we?” Bucky swirled his tongue around in his mouth, and that was a tragedy, because there were probably alien life forms colonizing his teeth and he’d just murdered them all.

“Nnnggh?” Tony shifted, then lifted his head a fraction of an inch and slitted one eye. He whimpered a little -- he tended toward light-sensitivity when hungover -- and dropped his head back onto Bucky’s thigh, mumbling something that sounded like, “Dzzn’z hzzz.”

Jan shifted, poking him in the back with what was an unreasonably pointy foot. “N’mving, shuddap.”

Bucky sighed, pondered the idea of death by asphyxiation (he thought he’d read somewhere that you couldn’t _actually_ kill yourself by holding your breath) and then tried to figure out how to extricate himself. God, his head hurt. How the fuck many shots had he done last night?

Counting was hard math. One. One… what went after one? More than one. A _lot_ more than one. He vaguely remembered Tony urging several drinks on him that had cherries in them, just so Bucky could show off his knot-tying skills. And then Jack had ordered a round and they’d done body-shots. He definitely remembered drinking a (dear god, had he _really_?) Slippery Nipple out of Jan’s bosom, about half of which had ended up spilled down his shirt.

Yeah, _whole lot_ more than one.

“Tony,” Bucky said, hearing his voice spiral up into a plaintive whine. “Love of my life, sun of my existence?”

“Mm?”

“I need you to get off my legs,” he said. “Seriously, have got to piss, like super-big time.”

“Get out of my bed,” Jan said, yawning, “before you pee. Not… not acceptable.”

Tony groaned, laboriously rearranged his limbs, and pushed himself off Bucky’s legs. His startled “Fuck!” coincided with a loud _thump_ as he hit the floor. “Owwww,” he whined.

Jan whimpered and then shoved a blanket off the bed in Tony’s direction. “Jus’ bury him, e’s useless.”

“That stings, Wasp,” Tony grumbled, but he dragged the blanket over his head and rolled into it like a human burrito.

“That’s adorable,” Bucky commented, then worked his way into a semi-upright position. “Which one’s the bathroom?”

“That one,” Jan said, pointing, which might have been useful if Bucky hadn’t been trying to pick his way over the minefield of discarded clothing and boxes of makeup and empty pizza boxes that covered the floor. Jesus, she was on par with Clint as far as slobbery went. Fortunately for her, the bathroom was the first door he opened. He shut the door behind him and then locked it, because Jan had so far showed absolutely no concern whatsoever for personal and private space.

Bucky used the toilet, washed his hands, drank what felt like a gallon of water right out of the tap, and then peered in the mirror. Ug. Too much hair goo, and his normal bedhead looked like he’d need a comb, a brush, and a firehose to get his hair back into anything remotely reasonable. Aaaand the whole side of his neck was covered in hickeys, pretty much from his ear all the way down.

He scrubbed at his face for a moment. There was lipstick on his cheek and chin, too. Great. On the plus side, Jan had a huge, economy-sized jar of Advil next to the sink. He dry swallowed three of them.

“Where are my pants?”

Jesus. What the utter hell had he _done_ last night? He vaguely remembered crawling into a cab with Jan and Tony and… the red-headed girl? He grabbed the Advil and filled a cup with water.  

Finally, Bucky staggered out of the bathroom. Tony had practically burrowed under Jan’s bed. “Come on, baby,” he said, slowly getting down on one knee. “You oughtta drink something.”

“Nooooo,” Tony said, muffled by what had to be at least three layers of blanket. “No more drinking.” But after a little more coaxing, he clawed his way out of the top of the blanket roll and let Bucky give him Advil and water, which he sipped gingerly and then gulped down thirstily. “Oh god,” he croaked, “you’re the _best_. Wedding is back on. If it was off. I don’t remember.”

“Good to know,” Bucky said. “Come on, let’s at least get you back in the bed, yeah? That cannot be hygienic down there. I don’t think Jan’s cleaned in here since the last time the two of you went out and partied.” Jan did not dispute that, which was not reassuring.

It took some doing, and Bucky really was regretting at least… half a dozen or so of those shots, but he managed to get Tony off the floor. Jan just wrapped around Tony without hesitating, smearing her makeup over his back as she cuddled.

With Tony off the floor, Bucky was at least able to find his pants. No, wait, those were _Tony’s_ pants. Bucky started to fold them up and Tony’s phone fell onto the floor with a thud.

Ug. Bending over sucked. So much. All the blood rushed to his head and he stayed there, a moment, hand outstretched and balancing against the floor while he tried to remember how to stand back up again. With Tony’s phone. Which had a green light blinking on it. “You had a call, baby,” he said. “Left voice mail.”

Tony lifted his head and squinted at Bucky. “Nobody _calls_. Everyone I know texts. Who the hell actually called me?” He sighed, put-upon, but held out his hand for the phone.

Bucky handed off the phone and continued the search for his pants. He was getting a rather uncomfortable feeling that they might have ended up being left in the cab.

Tony poked at the phone screen, made a frustrated sound, and poked some more.

Good news: he had not left his pants in the cab. Bad news: pants were not supposed to end up on the ceiling fan. That only happened in bad movies. And yet…

Bucky couldn’t reach them. He climbed up onto the coffee table (why was there a coffee table in Jan’s bedroom?), and prayed to God that it would hold his weight, or at least that if it didn’t, it wasn’t too terribly expensive, because it looked fragile as shit. There. Pants. Thank God.

“Ugggg, really? I regret giving her this number,” Tony grumbled. He stabbed irritably at the phone and lifted it to his ear. Then promptly pulled it several inches away from his ear, wincing at the volume. Seriously, Bucky could hear a sort of Peanuts-adult “wah wah wah” from all the way across the room.

Tony didn’t move after the sound stopped. He dropped his hand back into his lap and stared at nothing for a long while.

Bucky hopped off the table and pulled his pants on. Sort of. Jesus fuck, Jan, what the actual hell were these things? He really needed to get skinnier if he was going to wear these things regularly. “Tony?”

Tony blinked, looked at him, and then shook himself. “That was, uh. That was Mom. She... Dad’s taken a downturn and she thinks I should come back as soon as I can.”

_Shit._ Bucky stopped struggling with the zipper. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Where are we? I mean, I know, Jan’s, but how far to your mom’s house?”

“Um, it’s a ways. Not walkable.” He looked down at his phone and grimaced. “This time of day, probably at least half an hour or so by car.”

“All right. Call your mom back, have her send the driver for us. That’ll give us some time to get showered and eat something and become vaguely civilized. Enough to pass muster, at least,” Bucky said, going through it just like it was a drill. Of course, he’d been able to hold his mom’s hand when she died, and that had been… somewhat easier. Big Jim had just gone in the middle of the night -- had gone to bed alive and somewhat cranky and just never woken up. Bucky didn’t like to think about that morning much.

“Okay,” Tony said, and he thumbed the phone on again. “Mom? Yeah, I-- No, I didn’t see it until just now. With Jan and some-- Mom, slow down, I can’t-- Okay. Yeah. Okay. Can you send Happy to pick us up? We’re at Jan’s. Yeah. We’ll be ready. Thanks.” He dropped the phone again. “Done deal.” He pulled one knee up and dropped his forehead on it.

Jan stirred, propping up on one elbow and rubbing Tony’s back with the other hand. “You guys go shower,” she said, “and I’ll go make coffee and round up some food.”

_Great_. Now he was going to have to get _out_ of these pants. “Come on, baby,” he said, helping Tony stand up. “One step at a time.” It took some effort to get Tony into the bathroom and the shower running, as Tony seemed to have checked out of his head for a bit; either his hangover was worse than Bucky’s or the stress was just making him numb.

But that was okay; Bucky kinda liked taking care of Tony. He had to read through like eight bottles of various scented crap in Jan’s shower to find shampoo, but he got them both through the process and Tony was sort of trying to help by the time they got out and dried off.

Clothing turned out to be entertaining, since Bucky’s shirt absolutely reeked of alcohol and he barely managed to fit into the one Tony’d been wearing, and Tony looked just a little bit ridiculous in Jan’s oversized Dresden Dolls concert tee. But they were dressed and clean and Jan got them some coffee and a bagel before Happy pulled up.

Tony hesitated when Happy opened the door for him. “How bad?” he asked, near a whisper.

Happy’s mouth tightened into a firm line, and he shook his head. “Nurse says it won’t be long now.”

Tony took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He folded into the car and let Bucky pull him close. He kept his phone in his hand the whole way back, just in case.

Bucky didn’t try to say anything comforting; there was nothing to say. _It’s going to be all right_ was a lie. Feelings were complicated, and Tony’s more than most. He kept his arm around Tony’s shoulders and squeezed lightly. “I’m right here,” he said, after a while, because that was a promise he could keep. “I’m with you the whole time, Tony, I swear.”

***

Howard didn’t really look that different than he had the previous day, pale and shrunken in the bed, bony limbs nearly lost in the sheets and blankets. But his eyes were unfocused and his breathing was labored, and it was painful to look at him.

Maria sat in the chair by the head of the bed, one of Howard’s hands in hers. She looked... flawless, actually, like a soon-to-be widow from a TV drama rather than real life.

A handful of years ago, Tony would have scorned her for that, for caring so much about what other people saw. For catering to the demands of her status rather than allowing her real emotions rein.

But now... Howard had always prized her beauty. He’d bragged of it often, building himself up by making much of his wife’s appearance. And now he was dying. Tony didn’t think Howard could even _see_ her, really, the way his heavy-lidded eyes wandered aimlessly around the room. But she had been a devoted wife, however little Howard had deserved it. Tony could sort of understand that she wanted to be, to the end, what Howard wanted her to be.

Tony had been standing in the door for several long minutes, Bucky a silent but solid anchor at his back, when Maria finally looked up and saw him. “Antonio, darling,” she said, and reached out a hand.

Tony stepped forward and took it. “Mom, I’m...”

She shook her head quickly. “Not now,” she said. “Sit with me.”

And what could he do but obey? He sat in the second chair, and she let go of him to close her hand over Howard’s again.

He should feel glad, he thought, seeing Howard laid so low. Helpless and in pain, the way Tony had been, once. He should feel vindicated. Or angry. He should feel _something_.

Bucky put his hand on Tony’s shoulder, standing behind the two chairs like some sort of refugee bodyguard from a Greenwich nightclub. There was a small commotion in the hall and Tony could hear Obie’s voice. Bucky’s hand tightened a moment. “I’ll deal with it,” he said, low, in Tony’s ear. “If there’s something you want to say to your dad, now’s the time, baby.” He gave Maria a quick, encouraging sort of smile that Tony doubted she saw at all and stepped out of the room.

“Give them a moment, if you don’t mind, Mr. Stane? I don’t think --” and Bucky was drawing Obie off and away.

Tony closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh. Tony would talk to Obie, would handle... whatever that was. But not right now.

Maria gave Tony a small, watery smile. “He’s a good boy,” she said.

“The best,” Tony agreed. He looked at his father, fighting to breathe through lungs weighed down with pain and morphine and weeks of being confined to bed.

But still fighting. Because Howard was nothing if not a fighter.

“I loved you once,” Tony told his father. “I would have done _anything_ to make you proud of me. And if you were the genius that you thought you were, you would have seen that. You could have molded me into exactly what you wanted me to be. An echo of yourself. Mirror image. And all it would have taken was for you to be just a little bit kind.”

Howard was looking at Tony, a little. Off and on. Tony didn’t know if he was listening.

He hoped so. “That’s how Ty got me,” he admitted. “He treated me kindly, or at least it seemed like it at the time. Compared to you. It was a mistake, I can admit that. But my basis for comparison was skewed, so I don’t think the fault is all mine. The man I’m going to marry? He’s kind. Not just to me: to everyone. That’s how I know it’s real. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to be the sort of man who deserves him. That’s what you could have had from me.”

Howard didn't respond, didn't indicate that he'd even heard it.

Okay, seriously,” Bucky said as he came back in, “that guy does not know how to take no for an answer. He'll be back.”

“No doubt,” Tony said on a sigh. “He’s a stubborn old mule. Obie and Dad didn’t disagree very often, but when they did...” He threw up his hands. “Well. He’s Dad’s partner and oldest friend; he probably should get to say his own farewells.”

“Antonio,” Maria said, tremulous. “If you could... Would you move the chair to the other side of the bed, Antonio? So when Obadiah comes, he won’t-- So he can be close to your father as well.”

_So he won’t loom over you_ , Tony thought, because she’d always hated that. She’d complained about it once, even, but Howard had brushed it off. “Of course, Mom.” He carefully re-located the pole with the morphine drip to make space for the chair, and moved it. “Do you want anything else? Some tea, maybe?”

“No, thank you, _cuore mio_. I’m fine.” She stroked Howard’s hand a little, and tapped at her watch.

Tony arranged the chair, carefully; it was like flower arranging, maybe: how close was close enough, but far enough away to imply that, perhaps, Obie didn’t belong there? He felt... a little lighter, maybe. He’d said what he’d needed to say. There was nothing left to do but wait for the end.

Howard’s hand shot out as Tony was turning away, grabbing hold of his wrist in a grip that was tighter than it should have been, given how old and frail and ill Howard was. Not so much that Tony couldn’t have wrested himself away from it.

“You were right,” Howard managed. He coughed, hard enough that Tony could feel it radiating through his whole frame. “Bring him, bring him over here, Anthony. I can’t… can’t see him.”

Tony hesitated, then nodded. “Bucky? Honey?” He looked up and found Bucky watching him. “Dad... would like to see you. If that’s okay with you.”

Bucky nodded, crossed the room. He put one hand on the small of Tony’s back. “Of course,” Bucky said. “Mr. Stark.” He didn’t offer a hand, just a simple nod. “I’m James Barnes, Tony’s fiancé.”

Howard peered up at Bucky, squinting, then nodded. “Good, then.” He turned his attention to Tony. “When you’re ready.” He interrupted himself, coughing again. “Instructions to find... Suitable surrogate. Carry on the legacy.”

If Bucky’s eyebrow could go any higher, it would have been applying for a pilot’s license.

Tony put his hand over his face. The man was _dying_ , probably in a matter of hours, it would be _really horrible_ of him to yell now. Wouldn't it? “Uh. Yeah, Dad, I’m sure we’ll... give that all due consideration.” He glanced at Bucky and mouthed _I’m so sorry_.

“It’s _important_ ,” Howard said, his fingers tightening on Tony’s wrist. “I forgot that. You don’t… don’t do that. Better. Always… always were.” He squeezed Tony’s wrist one last time and let go. Turned, slow. “Maria?”

Maria stifled a small sound, like a kitten getting its tail stepped on. She raised her hand to her mouth, slow and shaking.

“Sit with me,” Howard said, patting the side of the bed. Affectionately. Almost flirtatiously.

Maria fussed for a moment, then did something Tony never thought he’d see; she hitched her skirt up around her thighs and sat on the bed, taking Howard’s hand and cradling it to her cheek.

“Maybe,” Tony whispered, “we should, uh, give them a moment.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah,” he said. They didn’t get far, most of the way across the room, Tony’s hand was on the door, and then--

“Oh,” was all Maria said as Howard’s arm fell. His chest rose once, twice, then stopped.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Obadiah Stane had all the grace and charm of a rusty bulldozer. He bared his teeth in something that had only a passing resemblance to a sympathetic smile.

“End of an era, eh, kid?” he asked, waving a glass of bourbon, swishing it around. “Come in, have a drink to your old man.”

It sounded more like an order than an invitation and Bucky could already feel tension creeping up his shoulders. Nothing about this situation was normal -- when Winifred had died, everyone had stayed in the room for hours before someone finally thought to call the hospice nurse and the EMTs came to take care of her body. Crying. Holding each other. Becca’d had to be dragged away.

Howard Stark’s family just stared at each other for a few moments. Maria had shed exactly two tears before wiping her cheeks and turning to give orders to the RN. Tony had hesitated, then left the room and Bucky had followed him.

Bucky remembered friends of the family flooding the house with food and sympathy and flowers, and at the time he’d been frustrated by how mundane and useless it had all felt, but in the days following, it had been a blessing, not to have to think about food, for there to be someone at hand to run errands or quietly turn away the idiot customers who’d approached the restaurant despite its darkened lights.

The Starks got... Obadiah Stane. True to Bucky’s prediction, he’d come back to the house only an hour later, and on hearing the news, promptly ensconced himself in Howard’s study and poured himself a glass of Howard’s hootch, and summoned Howard’s son.

Tony obediently went into the study, but he waved off the glass that Stane offered him. “Honestly, Obie, I still have a hangover from last night.”

“All the more reason,” Stane said, all false avuncular joviality. “Hair of the dog!”

“No,” Tony said, almost firmly. “I’m fine. Did you want something?”

Obadiah rumbled, knocked back the bourbon. “Right to the point, that’s what I like about you,” he said. “I want to make you an offer. There’s little love lost between you and Howard. You don’t have any interest in the company.” He looked into his glass, then turned and filled it again. He offered an empty glass to Bucky. “What about you, Barnes?”

Bucky repressed a shudder. “Think we about shaved that dog last night, Mr. Stane.” It wasn’t just that Obadiah was so weirdly cheerful, or that he was drinking a dead man’s booze. The whole situation was just… hideous in a way Bucky couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Bucky and I just want to go home and get back to our lives,” Tony said. “As soon as this is all...” He waved a hand, encompassing the house and everything in it. “...taken care of. Tell me about this offer of yours. Dad knew you were trying to edge me out.”

Obadiah actually had the nerve to look affronted. “It’s not like that, kid,” he said. “Just no need to tie everything up with legal. A Stark at the helm would probably steer us farther than a Stane, I admit, but rudderless? You’re gonna end up with controlling interest of a company you don’t want -- a company I’ve spent decades building with your father. You want to get back to your life. I’m offering to make that as easy as possible for everyone concerned.”

“Very generous of you, I’m sure,” Tony said, dry. He dropped into a chair and slouched, propping his foot on the edge of the desk. “Go on. You already know you’ve got the advantage on me, so you might as well just spit out the numbers. I know Dad lost the fight about me majoring in business and then I dropped out anyway, but I can still do a little simple math, I expect.”

Obadiah sat on the edge of the desk there -- Howard’s desk, and wow, Bucky was almost stunned by the gall of the man -- and pulled out a file folder. “I had the foresight to draw a little something up.” He slid the papers across the surface to Tony.

“That’s why Dad kept you around,” Tony said. “That keen sense of strategy. Always another fallback plan, right, Obie?” He picked up the folder and opened it, eyes scanning down the page inside the same cool, detached way they scanned down Bucky’s inventories and ledgers.

“That’d be in addition to the monetary settlement portion of your inheritance,” Obadiah pointed out. “Accounts and some heirlooms and that sort of thing. Two of the cars, I know for sure. The Studebaker. Still runs, although Howard had to have someone else do the work, these last few years.”

If Tony hadn’t been holding a file folder, Bucky probably would’ve missed the way that made his hands twitch. Too bad Stane was watching Tony so closely, as well. Still, Tony calmly closed the file and tossed it back on the desk, where it slid back across to Obadiah. “I know I’ve been out of touch, Obie, but stock reports do exist in Virginia. You’re not even offering me a tenth the current value. Even if the stock takes a massive hit when the news hits the street, this is basically highway robbery.”

“I’m offering you a chance to get out of this. Clean and clear. Easy. You never wanted this, you made no bones about it. And I have worked my ass off, taking care of your father, taking care of this company. I deserve better than what Howard’s given me, and so do you. The stock’s worth what it is because I helped guide this company.” Obadiah grumbled. “Throw in that I’ll look after your mom, make sure she’s taken care of. You’ve seen for yourself how she’s been declining. And you know she won’t think to do it herself.”

Bucky made a faint, scoffing noise. God, these people were horrible.

Tony glanced at Bucky, then slumped even further into the chair. “Leave the folder with me. I’ll consider it. We can’t have any agreement notarized until after the will is read anyway.”

“Best all the way around, kid,” Obadiah said. “You’ll see.” He clapped Tony on the shoulder, sat the empty glass down, and headed out.

Bucky waited until Obadiah’s footsteps were gone before collapsing into the chair next to Tony. “That is a _horrible_ man,” he said. “Your dad’s not even cold, yet.”

“Another horrible man,” Tony pointed out. “And I’m caught in the middle. Either I give my dad what he wanted and take over the company, or I sell out to Obie. I’m not seeing a lot of other options now.”

“Not that I know much about stocks,” Bucky said, “but are there limits on who you can sell to? I mean, stocks mean it’s publically traded, right?”

“Yeah, though I haven’t seen the terms of the will. I wouldn’t put it past Dad to have made a provision that they be kept as a block.”

“I’m gonna assume then it’s a big enough block that no one’s gonna want to fork that over in a lump sum,” Bucky said. He twined his fingers through Tony’s. “You… you don’t want the company?” He wasn’t quite sure if that was a question or not. Sounded like a question. Maybe a little bit like he wanted to be reassured that Tony didn’t. _Bring Tony home safe_ , Nat had told him.

_Oh, God, Nat, I want to._

“God, no,” Tony said, shuddering. “I never have. Business is so _boring_ , and a company the size of my-- of Stark Industries, you can’t just spend a couple of hours on the business and then the rest of the time doing the cool stuff. It’s a full-time job, and then some.”

“Then let a horrible person have the horrible job,” Bucky suggested. “Nudge him on the price a little, let him know you’re not a pushover. If he can fork over a tenth, he can scrape together a third. Win win, right?”

“Yeah... Yeah, I guess.” He launched out of the chair and into Bucky, tucking his head like he was trying to wrap Bucky around him like Jan’s blanket. “God, what would I do without you?”

“Hey,” Bucky said, petting Tony’s hair. “It’s all right, baby. I ain’t going anywhere. You know all I want is for you to be happy, right? Whatever that is.” Tony’s heart was pounding so hard and fast, it was like trying to comfort a hummingbird.

“Just want you,” Tony breathed. “That’s all I need.” He huffed a shaky laugh. “Gonna get a lot more than that, apparently. But it’s all icing.”

“I don’t even care about that, you know that, baby. Just wanna get through this an’ take you home. Hard part’s over now,” Bucky promised, even though that probably wasn’t entirely true. Howard had said his goodbyes, and Tony would have to process those. There’d be decisions about the funeral, and more decisions about what would happen to Maria. But the worst part, that, at least, was probably done. Howard couldn’t hurt Tony anymore, and that was the most important thing.

Tony clung for another moment, then loosened his grip a little. “Can we just... Just go back to bed and cuddle for the rest of the day?”

Bucky nuzzled Tony’s hair. “Anything you want, baby. That sounds real good to me.”

***

“It is not necessary for you to check in, so often,” Nat said. “We are perfectly capable of handlin-- hey!”

“Buck,” Steve said, and Bucky could hear Nat in the background screeching. The few words (in Russian) that he could clearly understand sounded a lot like _watermelon_ and _beets_. So, she’d moved on from recipes and was now just muttering random foods. “Look, we have an issue with--”

“Give that back to me,” Nat said and Bucky winced, holding the phone away from his ear as it sounded very much like Nat just knocked Steve’s feet out from under him. “If you tell him we have problems, we will never get him to take a day off again, and then he will die of stress in another five years and then where will we be? It’s fine. Everything is _fine_.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “What’s the issue?”

“It is fine, we can handle it,” Nat said. Apparently she’d recovered the phone.

“And I’m sure you can,” Bucky said, “but you might as well tell me now, since I’m aware there is an issue. Otherwise I’ll just worry and I’ll get an ulcer and die in five years.”

Nat scoffed, then sighed. “The renters for Bobbi’s timeshare…”

Oh god. “What happened?”

“They trashed the place,” Steve piped up. His voice sounded muffled, like he was talking from the other side of a door. Of course. Nat had locked herself in Bucky’s office.

“How long ‘til the next renters come in?” Bucky didn’t have Tony’s memory; he needed his calendar in front of him, which he didn’t have access to, up here.

“This weekend,” Nat finally admitted.

“Get a crew in and clean it up. Is anything broken beyond repair?”

“A window. And they threw the oven onto the patio.”

What the _fuck_? Why, why would someone do that? _Tourists_. “Okay, okay,” Bucky said. “Get it cleaned up, put the stove back where it’s supposed to be. Don’t check to see if it works; plausible deniability. Half the renters don’t use it anyway. Let the next guests tell you if there’s a problem. Pay a crew and charge it to the last group’s credit card. Keep the deposit. We might have to take ‘em to small claims, but that’s what deposits are for, right? Take pictures of everything and put a file together. We can claim insurance, too, so we’ll start that ball rolling.”

“You don’t sound upset,” Nat said, tentatively.

“I’m too busy to be upset right now,” Bucky said. “I was calling to let you know we’ll be here a bit longer. Tony’s dad passed yesterday and there’s no point coming home for a few days just to head back for the funeral. Tony’s mom… she needs him here. She might need him longer than I can stay away, but I’ll do my best. Need you two to work with me, though.”

“You know we do that, Bucky,” Nat said.

“Well, that includes not tryin’ to hide when we’re having issues,” Bucky pointed out.

“You need to worry about Tony now, not what goes on down here,” Nat said. That was probably the closest he was going to get to an apology, but that was okay. Nat would course-correct and that was all he really needed.

“Believe me, worrying about Tony is takin’ up most of the real-estate in my head right now,” Bucky said, and that was mostly true.

There was some fumbling and then, “Steve insists that he must speak with you,” before the phone changed hands again.

“Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln,” Steve said, “how was the play?”

“New York?” Bucky sighed. “We did some touring; one of Tony’s friends up here is a complete lunatic. Nat’ll either love her or go to war; hard to tell.”

“You sound down, Buck,” Steve said.

“Well, yeah, Tony’s dad’s died, things aren’t exactly a party right now,” Bucky pointed out, reasonably.

“No.” Steve was firm. “That’s not it. What’s wrong?”

The problem, Bucky thought, with having friends that he’d known for most of his life, who practically lived in his back pocket, was that they knew him too damn well. And Bucky’s poker face was for shit. His ma had called him an open book.

“I… mighta done somethin’ stupid while we were all drinking,” Bucky confessed.

“Might have?” Steve sounded skeptical. Bucky hadn’t exactly been cautious while drinking when he’d been younger; Steve had gotten him out of as much trouble when they got older as Bucky had kept Steve out of when they were younger. “Don’t tell me you sang karaoke in New York City.”

“I wish,” Bucky said.

“You gonna tell me, or just whine about it?”

Bucky chewed his lip. “Kinda woke up undressed with someone else.”

“ _Bucky_!”

Bucky winced. “Yeah, I know, I fuckin’ _know_ , okay, Stevie.”

“You are supposed to be getting married, Buck,” Steve said.

“He was there!”

Steve choked on air. “ _What_?”

“Tony, I mean,” Bucky said. He scrubbed his hand through his hair.

“I’m not sure I really want to know any more about this,” Steve hedged.

“The problem is that I don’t _remember_ ,” Bucky said. “I was blackout drunk, Stevie. I don’t know if… if I had sex with Tony’s ex-girlfriend, or if he did, or if we both did, or what. _I don’t know_.”

“Oh, jeez, Buck,” Steve said. “That’s not good, pal.”

“You think I ain't aware of that?” Bucky pushed down at the panic in his voice.

“You need to talk with Tony about this, Buck,” Steve said.

“Not ‘xactly a good time, right now,” Bucky said.

“There’s not going to be a better time,” Steve said. “You can’t wait for a good time; the longer you keep it a secret, the worse the fallout is going to be. You tell him _now_ , while you have a chance to fix it.”

Bucky was going to be ill. “Okay, Stevie,” he said, “you’re right.”

“-- wait, did you say _girl_ friend?”

Bucky groaned. “Okay, seriously, we ain't getting into that. The equipment works, okay?”

“I… am just not going to think about that, okay, Buck. But I’m pretty sure that sometimes it just doesn’t.”

Bucky almost laughed. For all the people who would have rather Bucky tried to “just not be gay,” Steve was the only one who would get the squicks about thinking of Bucky with a girl. Steve had never, ever tried to change Bucky at all -- and Bucky was grateful for it -- even if Steve had one time come to the exceptionally _awful_ conclusion that Steve could be gay for Bucky. That had ended in one disastrous kiss that _Bucky_ preferred not to think about.

“Right,” Bucky said. “I’ll let you know when we’re gonna be back, as soon as all these… arrangements are made and stuff. Call me if there are problems, okay, I want to know.”

“Take care of yourself,” Steve said. “And Tony. Tell him we’re thinking about him.”

“Thanks, Stevie.”

Bucky pressed the disconnect and flopped over on the guest bed. Ug. This was a conversation he did not want to have. At all.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Tony had spent the whole morning meeting with his father’s accountant (well, one of the team of them) and personal lawyer to try to iron out the details of Howard’s estate. He now had a monumental headache and a sinking suspicion that this wasn’t something he was going to be able to wrap up in a few days. This shit was going to follow him home, and he was going to have to make multiple trips back to New York over the next several months to get it all handled.

He skirted the front parlor, where Maria probably was; as soon as Howard’s body had been removed, she’d retreated there, and hadn’t budged since, that Tony could tell. But he didn’t want to risk encountering her leaving and be forced to tell her all the damn details.

He wanted to take a shower, put on something actually comfortable to wear, and go find Bucky so they could have lunch. And then he was going to take a damn nap. He dashed up the stairs and pushed into the goldenrod room, and immediately found Bucky flopped across the bed, doing something on the phone. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Bucky groaned. “Hey Tony,” he said, sitting up with some difficulty. The mattress in that room was selected for comfort sleeping, not doing anything else on, although they’d managed a few times. “I… uh… Steve and Nat say hi, and that they’re thinking of you.”

“That’s nice. How’s everything at home?” Tony climbed onto the bed and wrapped himself around Bucky.

“Oh, the usual,” Bucky said. “Someone tossed the oven out the window at the rental. Neither of them know how the ordering software works, so Steve had to go buy all the sliced cheese from the Farm Fresh. That kinda thing. I should put more effort into getting a process plan laid out, if we’re going to vacation again.” He took a deep breath. “And… we need to have a chat.”

A chat? What the hell did that mean? It definitely didn’t sound good, not with the way Bucky was bracing himself. Had he decided he had to go home on the original schedule? Shit, Tony didn’t _want_ to do this without Bucky’s support, but Bucky did have responsibilities. Fuck.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head to Bucky’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look. “About what?”

“I don’t even know how to…” Bucky said, then swallowed hard. “Maybe I should just… shit. Tony, I’m so, so sorry.” He opened his mouth several times, then… “What happened with Jan? After we left the bar, because _fuck_ , I cannot remember any of it.”

Tony’s head snapped up and he blinked at Bucky in confusion. _That’s_ what he was worried about? It was such a relief that he couldn’t hold back the laugh. “Oh my god, you had me worried,” he said. “Really?”

Bucky scowled. “Not funny, Tony,” he said. “I don’t know what happened, and we were sort of… mostly naked in the same bed. Okay? I got history with monumentally bad decisions when I’m plastered.”

“Oh, hey, I’m not laughing at you, I’m just... Nothing really happened, okay? She had these really ridiculous outfits she made us try on, and... I think I remember her taking pictures of that. And we made out for a little bit and she probably has pictures of that, too, but it’s not like she’d sell them or anything. Why, what’d you think happened?”

Bucky flushed, his neck turning dark red. “Kinda woke up with my head between her thighs, Tony.”

 _Oh_. Okay, yeah, Jan could be an aggressive cuddler; Tony remembered that. “Okay, but she was wearing underwear,” he pointed out. “And a bra. And we were wearing underwear. And if anything like _that_ had happened, we were too drunk to bother getting dressed after. I think we just kind of... fell over and then went to sleep where we fell.” And even drunk, Jan wouldn’t do that to Tony, but Bucky didn’t know her well enough for that argument to carry weight.

Bucky shuddered, pulling Tony into a tighter embrace. “I used to wake up a lot, not knowing who I’d been with, around the time my Ma died,” he said. “An’ you were _there_ , but… and I think if I was doin’ something that bothered you, you’d say something and even stupid-drunk I _wouldn’t…_ just woke up with that horrible _what did I do_ feeling?”

“Okay, hey, it’s okay honey.” Tony climbed onto Bucky’s lap and cupped Bucky’s face in his hands. “It’s okay. Nothing happened, and even if it had, I wouldn’t blame you, ‘cause we were right there together. Okay? I get why you’re upset, but it’s all right. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Love you,” Bucky offered. He bonked his forehead lightly against Tony’s sternum. He groaned. “Steve is going to enjoy this waaaay too much.”

Tony kissed the top of Bucky’s head. “Probably. I mean, if you want, we can _tell_ him we had a threesome with Jan. She’s really cute; he might be jealous.”

Bucky snorted. “I can only begin to imagine the faces that Nat will make if she --” he couldn’t even finish the sentence, suddenly rolling back on the bed and dragging Tony with him, laughing. There was a little more relief than lust in that first kiss, but it didn’t take too long before Bucky was sighing into Tony’s mouth, his hands wandering. “God, I love you so much.”

“Love you too.”  And yeah, okay, this was definitely better than lunch. Or at least worth putting off lunch for a while. Tony nuzzled down into Bucky’s neck, nibbling at the underside of his jaw and behind his ear. And oh, the way Bucky’s breath caught when Tony nipped at the shell of his ear, and the feel of his hands sliding up under Tony’s shirt, splaying warm against Tony’s skin. “Mm, you feel good, honey. Could kiss you for hours.”

Bucky rolled Tony over and ground against him, humming with interest. “Totally gonna hold you to that.”

***

Maria Stark was a woman grown; she’d been married at twenty, that much was true, and her son had been born after more years than she’d wanted to remember. There’d been two failed pregnancies before Antonio had arrived safe and sound, if a little smaller and earlier than the doctors had been comfortable with. But she was certainly no blushing debutante. She’d woken up alone more often than she’d woken up with Howard; he had business trips and sometimes did not come home at night even when he was in the city. She’d found him on more than one occasion asleep at his desk, face down in piles of papers, pen dangling from his fingertips. On others, napping on the narrow sofa in his study, a bottle open and unfinished on the floor by his side.

And of course, these last few weeks, she’d been sleeping alone in their bed while Howard was too ill. (Although she’d taken her turn at sleeping in chairs while trying to be a good wife and stay at his side through his illness.)

Waking up alone _that_ morning should not have been such a fresh and painful thing.

She’d laid out her clothes the night before, dark and dreary things. She hated black; she was pale and fair-haired and black washed out every bit of color she had. At least the hat had a nice, thick veil so that her friends wouldn’t have to look closely at her ravaged face.

She dressed slowly. Each piece of jewelry was carefully selected; a simple, older strand of pearls that had once belonged to Howard’s mother. Matching earrings. Her original engagement ring; Howard had rather insisted she stop wearing it; for their tenth anniversary he’d bought her a gaudy, heavy anniversary band with a dozen diamonds. Frankly, she was relieved to take that piece off. It always made her fingers ache. The simple solitaire was nice, a reminder of the time when Howard had been courting her.

He’d given her the ring during an afternoon in the Catskills. They’d been walking and he’d picked a bunch of black-eyed susans for her, and when he handed them to her, the stems had been pushed through the ring. He’d braided the flowers together into a crown for her hair when she’d said yes.

She considered the anniversary band, laying on her vanity. Perhaps Antonio might want it, to break the ring down and use the stones for his own wedding.

Maria had never expected to outlive her husband. He was barely sixty, they should have had more time.

 _More time for what?_ That sounded like Antonio’s voice in her head; but he’d never understood, poor boy. Maria pinned her hat in place with a simple pearl-headed stickpin, feeling the edge scrape her scalp just a little. She nodded, satisfied. She would be perfect for the funeral. It was, after all, what Howard expected of her.

Howard might have also expected Obadiah to meet her at the door to their bedchambers -- Howard had a particularly uncomfortable sense of humor sometimes -- but Maria did not. She cringed back as he loomed over her.

Even in the days after his best friend and partner had died, when Maria was plagued by headache and heart pains, Obadiah could not seem to keep his voice down. There was something lacking in his respect, she thought, a little waspish.

“Thought you might need some support, today of all days,” Obadiah said, offering his arm and she truly could not be so mannerless as not to take it. She let the merest weight of her fingers brush his arm, trying to tell herself that Obadiah meant well, that he was grieving, the same as they all were, the loss of Howard, of a great man.

He escorted her down to the parlor, although she’d thought to have a cup of tea first, to settle herself, but…

She sighed. Surely, she was overreacting.

“Do you know, Maria,” he said, sitting opposite her, “what you’re going to do with yourself all day?”

“I’ll manage, I’m certain,” Maria said. She offered him a thin-lipped smile, which he probably couldn’t see behind her veil. “Howard’s affairs will take some time to settle, no doubt. I think sometimes he delighted in complications.” Maria almost put a hand to her mouth. It wasn’t like her to be critical, but truly, the provisions and clauses to each portion were absurd. Antonio had looked simply exhausted after each meeting with the accountants.

Poor dear. She was happy enough that he’d found a young man with great, broad shoulders, who would help him. Antonio had always been a little delicate; his father had deplored that in him, but Maria found Antonio charming. Her little bambino. Obadiah was still talking.

“... continue on with the legacy,” Obadiah said. “Think of it as more a merger.”

What? Maria blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Obadiah,” she said.

“It’s all right to know your place, Maria,” Obadiah said. “You’re going to be lost without Howard, there’s no shame in that. I was thinking, we’re already good friends, and I’m used to looking out for you. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Maria blinked. Surely he was not saying what she thought he was saying. Surely even Obadiah Stane would not be so crass. She frowned. “Have you seen Antonio this morning?” She looked around, as if she expected her son to materialize out of the walls and rescue her from what was rapidly escalating from an awkward conversation to a distasteful one. “I should speak with him about the service. If you’ll excuse me.”

She fled, knowing it for what it was. Her heart was pounding so. At least Obadiah let her go, his hand reaching out to brush her sleeve as she passed him.

There, she thought she’d heard voices in the hall. Antonio and his young man were just near the conservatory, talking in low tones.

“There you are, my darling,” she said, moving somewhat faster, to better look at his clothes and brush out the wrinkles from his jacket. “Do ride with me this morning, to the church? You and James? We shall be somewhat snug, but a comfort to me, don’t you think?”

“If that’s what you want,” Antonio agreed. He made an unpleasant face. “People would talk if we didn’t, anyway.”

She couldn’t help it, she glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t care what people will say, Antonio,” she said. “I wish you to…” She wanted one of her pills, she hated that her heart was racing so, that her chest was aching for air. Obadiah was standing there in the end of the hall, just outside her parlor now, and how dare he make her feel so… penned in, inside her own house? Surely it was her home, now.

She inhaled, sharp, shocked at herself. Where were her manners? Her serenity? She was… truly, she was going to pieces without Howard.

When she turned back, Antonio was looking past her, at Obadiah, cool and neutral. “Are you... Well, of course you’re not all right.” He fished a handkerchief from his suit pocket, still starchy and crisp and new, and offered it to her. “Come on, then, let’s go wait in the car.”

That sounded lovely, Antonio was such a good son. She took the offered square of material and dabbed at her eyes. Her mouth was trembling, but that was all right. Howard would want her to miss him, wouldn’t he? “Yes… yes, the house seems rather… unwelcoming this morning, doesn’t it?” She tucked herself against Antonio’s side; the wrong one, the improper side, but it would put him between her and Obadiah, and she really, just did not want to… Her hand was tighter than it should have been on his arm.

He didn’t speak again until they were settled into the car, the boys crowding in on either side of her, and that was all right. That felt safe. “Mom...” Antonio said then, “did Obie say something? You seem... flustered.”

“I don’t… don’t quite know,” she admitted. Maria patted Antonio’s hand, frowned at the black glove that kept her from feeling him and tugged it off. It was comforting, her son’s warm hand. “He was speaking of business and… perhaps I misunderstood his meaning. I… surely he would not say such a thing, with Howard not even... “

James, her son’s young man, made a noise that under normal circumstances she might have been affronted by, rude and loud in his throat. “Wouldn’t put much past that man, honestly, Missus Stark.” She liked the way he sounded, all dark-voiced with a gentle accent.

James and Antonio exchanged a look over her head. “What did he say, Mom?” Antonio asked, so sweetly and carefully.

Antonio would tell her she was being silly. Vain, even. Perhaps she would feel better, though, if he could reassure her that she was imagining it, that she was just distraught. “I… rather think he proposed to me, dear.”

The fury that flashed across his face reminded her of Howard, for a moment, but then it was gone, hidden and revealed only in the sudden shaking of his hands. He took a careful breath, and then another, and his voice was perfectly steady when he asked, quietly, “Is that... something you _want_?”

She stared around the car, searching, perhaps, for the answer. Surely there must be an acceptable response. Her son’s young man mouthed something that she should probably be offended by, but she decided it wasn’t worth noticing. She was feeling a little disconcerted, herself. Her very first thought was dread. Obadiah was just… so very large. He dominated a room with sheer size, volume. He was not very mannerly.

“No,” she said, firmly. “No, I… no. I don’t… Howard would --” but would he? Would Howard have disapproved of the idea, or would he have thought his best friend, his life-long partner would be a good keeper for his wife? Surely not. And even if so, at least not this _soon_. She clutched at the handkerchief Antonio had pressed on her, crumpling it in her hand. The little girl she’d once been was still deep inside her, and that little girl had a stubborn chin and a willful mouth. She’d been so much braver, once. Maria didn’t like thinking of being alone, not all day. But Obadiah Stane? “No. I don’t want to.” She was aware that she sounded rather petulant, like a child who didn’t want to take a bath.

Antonio let out a gusty sigh and sagged a little. “Thank god,” he muttered, and then his hand tightened on hers. “Then you won’t. We won’t let him bully you into anything you don’t want.”

“Well, surely he wouldn’t _bully_ me, Antonio,” Maria said, trying hard not to show the relief she felt. “It’s hardly the school prom we’re speaking of. But I admit, I’ll be more at ease if he should give over thinking of such things like a merger of businesses.” She allowed herself to slump, just a little, and lean against Antonio’s arm. “You’re a good son.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

It was a good thing that Maria hadn’t asked Tony to give a eulogy. He spent most of the funeral quietly seething, and there was no way he’d be able to stand up and give a speech, no matter how carefully prepared, in which he had to pretend to have anything other than extremely mixed emotions about Howard’s death.

He’d known Obie wanted the company, but trying to marry his mom? Jesus _Christ_ but that was some Hamlet-level shit that Tony did _not_ want to get into. Not to even mention that would make Zeke Stane his stepbrother, and... No. Just... no.

It was political, of course, a move meant to force Tony’s hand in regard to the stock. It was a move Tony was going to have to concede, unless he wanted to take up the company reins. Which he emphatically did _not_. But before he could do that, he’d have to figure out how to protect Maria from future moves, because obviously no gentleman’s agreement was going to suffice, if Obie was already being that underhanded.

Bucky’s hand squeezed his leg, gently, and started tracing spirals. Tony forced his attention back to the service -- was something happening that Bucky thought would be affecting him particularly? The pastor was still droning on, though, so--

Bucky elbowed him. Tony looked at him, startled, and Bucky lifted his eyebrows and twitched his head to one side. _Look over there_.

Tony dropped the program, and leaned over to pick it back up, using the movement as an excuse to scan the congregation on the other side of Bucky.

He saw people he didn’t know, mostly -- business connections, some SI managers, a few people from Howard’s club -- all dressed in black and dark grey and navy blue. A few military guys in their dress uniforms. The women all wore horrid-looking fussy little hats pinned on top of their hair. But there really wasn’t anything there that would have caught Bucky’s attention. He didn’t know--

And then his eye snagged on a carefully careless fall of platinum-blond hair, and Tony’s stomach turned over. What the everliving _fuck_ was Ty doing here? He’d only met Howard once, maybe twice, and then solely for the purpose of blackmailing Howard to stay away from Tony.

Well, Ty was here to annoy the shit out of Tony, of course. Jesus, it had been almost a year, why couldn’t he just move the hell on? You would think that Ty would have exhausted his store of petty spite after the shit he’d pulled with the Christmas cards, sending Tony a syrupy “come back to me” plea and Bucky a truly vile disparagement meant to make Tony seem less attractive. But it was Ty, after all. The man had a boundless store of petty spite at his ready disposal, and _no_ idea how to let go of a grudge.

Bucky squeezed Tony’s leg again, in comfort this time.

 _Don’t you dare punch Ty at the memorial service_ , Tony sent telepathically. Tony knew Bucky _wanted_ to. Ty’s bit of malicious nonsense had bothered Bucky more than he'd wanted Tony to know. He sighed and leaned against Bucky a little. That was probably an acceptable level of public display, right?

Maria squeezed Tony’s arm as Obadiah got up to speak, and dear god, did that man drone on. He made some not-particularly-subtle remarks about the Starks being "like family," in case Tony hadn't already gotten that message, then mentioned all the good Howard had done (if you considered blowing up people in the Middle East to keep gas prices low good, Tony supposed that Howard had some accomplishments) and ended with something about closer bonds and support.

Tony kept his eyes on Obie for the whole speech, watching to see how often Obie looked directly at his mother. Maria, he was pretty sure, kept her eyes on her lap the entire time, pointedly _not_ looking back. Tony was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the way Obie looked at him and smiled, just a bit.

Bucky was drawing on Tony’s leg again, this time a wavy line with… oh, god, it was bad form to giggle at a funeral, but he was pretty sure Bucky’d just drawn a fucking shark fin on his leg, a silent commentary on Obie’s little speech. Tony was not quite subtle about stepping on Bucky’s foot. _Stop that._

Bucky winked, the dork, and Tony took his hand and laced their fingers together. That may or may not have been appropriate funeral behavior, but Tony was past the point of caring.

It wasn’t until the service was finally over that Maria told Tony she expected him to stand in the receiving line with her. A _receiving line_ , what even the fuck. What a terrible thing to do to someone who might _actually_ be grieving -- make them stand at the damn door and try to think up some kind of response to an entire church-full of people filing past and murmuring sympathies of assorted sincerity.

Maria had a knack for social grace that Tony had missed, somehow managing to say something _individual_ and _personal_ to each one of them, and for those who truly seemed sympathetic, she made each of them feel like they, specifically and individually, were giving her the strength to carry on.

Tony just shook a lot of hands and endured a lot of air-kisses and recited the same four or five tired platitudes over and over.

Bucky was exempt, of course, since he wasn’t actually part of the family yet, but he found a bit of wall to hold up where Tony could see him, and whenever Tony glanced his way, he rolled his eyes or made a face or (in one case) visibly appreciated the cut of a young manager’s trousers. Tony was torn between wanting to throw something at him or stalk over there and kiss him breathless.

He’d almost forgotten about Ty, so when he suddenly found himself face-to-face with the prick, he had already stuck out his hand.

Ty took it and pulled Tony into a hug, and Maria would _kill_ Tony if he acted on his first instinct and shoved Ty all the way across the vestibule, so he gritted his teeth and accepted it. “Tiberius,” he growled into Ty’s ear. “What are you doing here?”

Ty’s disingenuous look was still impressively sincere-looking. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said. “Not when I heard. How could I let you go through this without offering my support?”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” Tony said. “But I have all the support I need. I’m sure my mother appreciates the gesture; now good-bye.”

Ty smiled thinly. “I’m sure it’s just your grief that’s making you so cross,” he said. “Just remember, my sweet, when you’re tired of your little adventure and your plebeian little friends and your rustic boytoy, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Tony couldn’t even respond to that. Not in polite company, at any rate. He settled for a wide, fake smile, and turned pointedly away from Ty to the next person in line.

“Oh, Tiberius, I thought that was you,” Bucky said, suddenly stealing Ty from the end of the line, putting one arm in a companionable grip around his shoulders and steering him off to one side. Even Tony had to look close to see the white-knuckled grip Bucky had on Ty’s shoulder.

***

Churches were pretty much churches, Bucky had noticed. Same basic layout, no matter how ritzy the decor or how long-winded the pastor was. He pulled Ty into the vestibule, where there was relative privacy.

“Hmm. Tiberius Stone,” Bucky said, calm, casual. It was buzzing behind his teeth, his need to hurt this man, although Tony would hardly appreciate it if he did so. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the hip flask that he’d found the tucked in his overnight bag. Nat had left a bright pink sticky note on it, _just in case_. He unscrewed the cap, took a quick nip. Oh, that was the good vodka; thank you, Nat. “Drink?” He offered the flask to Ty.

Ty raised an eyebrow at him, all holier-than-thou and pretension. “I hardly think so. Why are you accosting me?”

“Your loss,” Bucky said, taking another swig. “This is the good stuff. Bit of a tradition, down home. Little spirits, to toast the dearly departed. Figured you might be grieving a bit, seeing as how Howard was like your spiritual role model and everything. And I’m no more accostin’ you than you are harrassin’ Tony. Or we can just be men, and stop telling lies. What do you think, Stone? You up to that?”

Ty sniffed. Supercilious little bastard. “I’m not telling any lies. But let’s get this over with. What is it that you feel you must say to me?”

“You know--” Bucky took another swig, because really, he needed to disinfect his mouth after suffering the same air as Ty Stone. “--Howard didn’t disinherit Tony. You’d think he would have, after everything that happened, but maybe the man had some blood pride, in the end.” He rubbed at his lower lip with his thumb for a moment. “Tony didn’t even have to do anything. No groveling or promises. Just came back. Held dear ol’ Dad’s hand for a few minutes while he shuffled off the mortal coil.” He offered Ty the flask again. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”

Ty looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Well, that’s very... fortuitous for you,” he said. “Do be sure to get a prenup,” he offered in a low voice. “That way, when Tony runs off on you the same way he’s run off on everyone who’s ever cared for him, you won’t be left destitute.”

“You know what fuckin’ galls me, Stone?” Bucky asked, then continued, not waiting for an answer. “That I’m so damned happy now, and it’s all thanks to you. It wouldn’t have taken much for you to keep him. Tony asks for so very little. You were _this close_. This close to everything you ever wanted. If you coulda just kept your fists to yourself. Does that get to you? Because it sure as shit bothers the hell out of me that you had to treat him so badly. I’m happy as hell that he’s in my life, he’s going to _marry me_ , but I would trade it in a second if I could change what happened to him, make it so he didn’t have to be so goddamn scared. Does that make you feel good? That he was so fuckin’ terrified of you that he ran all the way into my arms?”

“I treated him like royalty,” Ty hissed. “I gave him _everything_. One mistake, _one_ , and he’s written me off as being like _Howard_. It’s Howard’s doing, of course, traumatizing him so badly; I can’t blame Tony for that, really. But there are really only two ways this goes, Barnes. Either _you_ slip up, just once, someday down the road, and he’s in the wind again, or he realizes just how much he overreacted and remembers that the life I was trying to give him was worlds and away better than your pathetic hand-to-mouth existence.”

Bucky took hold of his revulsion with both hands and shoved it deep down. “I don’t think you quite understand how many zeros are on the end of that settlement, Stone. He doesn’t need _anything_ from you, ever again. And you might want to keep in mind that hitting someone is never, ever a mistake. I’ve thrown a few punches in my time, so I know. It’s never an accident. You. Meant. To hurt him. To soothe your pride, or ease your temper. Build yourself up, make you feel important. If I were you, and I’m saying this with all possible sincerity, you should get some help, Stone. Before you get into another relationship. Not that I expect you’ll take my advice.” Bucky patted Ty on the shoulder as condescendingly as possible and walked back toward the main cathedral.

***

Maria was starting to look a bit wan by the time Bucky rejoined them; the receiving line, horrible thing that it was, was down to a few stragglers. Tony was off to one side, speaking earnestly with Captain Danvers, who wore even her funeral clothing like it was a military uniform.

“Hey, Missus Stark. You holdin’ up okay?” Bucky greeted her, putting one hand lightly on Maria’s arm. “Don’t suppose you have any hand sanitizer in your purse. I’ll trade you a nip of vodka for it.”

He’d mostly been joking. But Maria turned to him with an almost genuine smile under that thick black veil. “That may well be the most sincere and welcome offer I have had all day, young man,” she said. She opened her bag and dug through it for a few moments, came up with a bottle. Bucky offered her the flask and wasn’t particularly surprised that she took a long draught through the veil, leaving a slight wet mark on the cloth. “Thank you.”

Bucky was still wiping his hands off -- god, he needed a shower after dealing with that pile of dung -- when he came up behind Tony.

“--what to do now,” Tony was saying to Carol. “You’re right, she can’t be left alone, especially not now, but I can’t move back to New York.”

Tempting as it was to pull Tony into a consolatory hug, he settled for putting a hand against his lower back, soothing and a comfort, and just a little bit possessive. “Hey,” he said. “Took the trash out for you.”

Tony leaned into him, and it still wasn’t as good as a hug, but it was better. “I saw him leaving,” Tony said. “You’ll have to tell me later what you said to him. You remember Carol, yeah? We were just talking about... family issues.” He glanced over Bucky’s shoulder toward Maria.

“You know,” Bucky said, low, in Tony’s ear, “Clint and Bobbi don’t have any renters lined up after next weekend. If your mom wanted to take a vacation for a bit, we could put her up there. For a while. Just until she got a little more settled.”

Tony flashed him a brilliant smile. “Such a sweetheart,” he said, and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “We can float it by her, see what she says. I was considering a bodyguard, just to keep Obie out of her hair, but it needs to be someone Obie can’t buy off, and that’ll be harder to source. A little easier if we can put it off until after all the legal junk is settled.”

“If she’d rather stay in New York,” Carol offered, “I could convince my parents to invite her to stay with them for a few weeks. Even if it wasn’t for her... other troubles, I can’t imagine she’d be anything but miserable rattling around that house by herself with all its memories.”

“I don’t know how anybody wasn’t miserable there, even when it wasn’t empty,” Bucky muttered, probably not quite as low as he should have, but Carol’s sidelong glance was more amused than affronted.

“Anyway,” Carol said, “I’m glad I got to talk to you. I know I shouldn’t have been such a bitch at dinner the other night, but-- Well. I’m glad you’re thinking about it now. And I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Tony said. “As long as you promise to look us up, next time you’re at Langley for a few days.” He took Bucky’s arm and drifted back toward Maria -- almost everyone else had left, so they could finally collect themselves and go.

Bucky let Tony take Maria’s arm and looked around the cathedral one last time. He uncapped his vodka and swallowed the last of it. The worse thing, the very worst, he thought, was that even Maria had been mostly calm, mostly composed. The speeches had all been very nice, polished and everything that was insincere.

No one, as far as Bucky could tell, was really mourning the man at all.

That… that was Howard Stark’s legacy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: The bit about the Christmas cards that Ty sent them will be covered in more detail in the next fic, Polar Expressions (which backtracks some on the timeline -- which is what we get for writing things out of order).


	12. Chapter 12

Despite all the unfinished business left in New York, Bucky still had a business to run, so he and Tony went back to Virginia the day after the funeral. Thanks to the late booking and one overbooked flight, they didn’t make it home until well after midnight. So when the delivery driver knocked on the door at nine the following morning, Tony found himself squinting suspiciously into the too-bright sunlight. How the hell had the boxes caught up with them so fast? Trick question: of _course_ his mother had paid for expedited next-morning delivery. He leaned to look past the driver and over the walkway railing, where there were ten more boxes stacked next to the truck. Fuuuuuuck.

“Ug,” he complained, and signed the tablet the driver was holding out for him. “Let me put on some pants and I’ll help you bring them up.”

Twelve. Twelve boxes of Tony’s old crap that Maria hadn’t been able to wait to send him. Jesus. His room had stood untouched for seven years, it wasn’t like a few more weeks would make a difference. _What even the hell, Mom?_

At least he didn’t have to worry about his mother succumbing to Obie’s trickery and bullying; he’d seen her safely installed in the Danvers’ guest suite, and dropped a word of warning in Mrs. Danvers’ ear. Mrs. Danvers had no problem facing down her husband, so she certainly wasn’t about to let anyone bother Maria.

Tony helped the driver stack the boxes in the living room, and then stood there long after the guy was gone, eyeing the boxes with distaste. It had been almost a decade since he’d seen any of that stuff; he really didn’t need it. It was tempting to just chuck it all in the dumpster, but he was aware enough to accept that after he’d finished catching up on sleep, he might want to keep at least some of it. He scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan.

“Later,” he decided, and shoved them back against the sofa so he and Bucky wouldn’t trip over them. They were going to have a lot of catch-up to do after spending ten days in New York. Bucky had been up at the crack of dawn despite the late night, and was already downstairs working. Tony’s teenage crap was _way_ down at the bottom of the priority list.

As if in agreement, the timer on the coffee pot kicked on in the kitchen. Tony groaned and went into the bathroom to make himself more presentable.

The coffee was done by the time he was dressed, thank god. He pulled two mugs out of the cabinet, added a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar to Bucky’s, and filled them both.

When he carried the mugs into Bucky’s office a few minutes later, he found Bucky already looking frazzled. “Hey, babe. Coffee?”

“If it’s laced with strychnine, I’ll take it.” Bucky ran both hands through his hair and pulled like he wanted to yank it out, and then took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, thanks. Morning.” He gave Tony a tepid smile, more a wriggle of his lips before taking a long sip of coffee.

Tony leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Sorry, nothing in there but the usual. That bad already?”

Bucky blew out, ruffling his hair. “Steve fucked up the ordering; we’d better hope it’s not busy this weekend, or we’re gonna be doing a lot of ‘we’re all out’ crap. That never goes over well. Barton walked right into his damn wife while carrying a double-full bucket. Pretty much everything broke; we’re down over two dozen glasses. And Bobbi needed stitches in her leg. Which means we’re also down waitstaff for tonight, since Wanda decided to take the week off because Bobbi was here.”

Tony blew out a breath. “Ow. Okay, keep Clint on tonight as punishment. I’ll pick up some slack on waiting tables and keep an eye on him so he doesn’t overload the tubs. One of these days he’ll realize it’s not whether he can lift it all but whether he can see over the stack. Do you want me to do an eyeball inventory and run into town to buy stuff, or just ride it out?” It cost more to buy stuff themselves rather than go through suppliers, but depending on what they were low on, it would cost even more to not have favorite menu items available.

“Check and see, you know what the averages are. We can eat a small loss, I guess,” Bucky said. “If we need burger, that’ll hurt too much not to have on hand. Crab and other stuff’s seasonal, people usually understand that. I can get a mid-week delivery, it’ll just cost the premium.” He groaned. “ _This_ is why I don’t take time off.”

“No, baby, this is why you need to get Steve properly _trained_.” Tony grinned and ducked in to give Bucky a proper kiss before heading for the storeroom.

Nat leaned in the door just as Tony was leaving. “I get a small warning,” she said. “Hill is on her way for a surprise inspection.”

Bucky groaned, loud enough to be heard even in the kitchen. Steve glanced up as Tony crossed behind him. “Welcome home?”

Tony snorted. “Be it ever so humble. Someone call Clint and tell him to make sure he wears a clean shirt or Hill will ding us for him.” Yeah, today was going to be just _fantastic_.

***

All Bucky really wanted to do was fall face-first in the sofa for a while, cuddle with his fiancé, and maybe watch something truly mindless on the television.

Except there were these huge stacks of boxes between the sofa and him.

“What the _hell_?”

Tony, coming in behind him, sagged and groaned. “I almost forgot about that shit. It’s all the stuff Mom sent. I don’t want to fuck with it tonight. Can we just stick them in one of the spare rooms and forget about them for a while?”

There was a sudden, intense pressure in Bucky’s chest, a bodiless fist reaching in to grab hold of his lungs and squeeze all the breath out. “I uh... “ There was no reason for him to feel like Tony’d just stabbed him. His brain worked feverishly. He couldn’t… hadn’t opened that door. Not for months. More than a year, now, almost two. “Um. Becca’s room probably has some space.”

“Enough for all this? Well, we can see.” He didn’t move, though, as if waiting. When Bucky just looked at him, he raised his eyebrows. “Which one is it?”

Oh. Right. Bucky took a few deep breaths, trying to engage his brain, but it was like a loose shifter; just grinding gears. “What the hell did she have to send this all now for?” Bucky grumbled. He shoved a hand through his hair and moved down the hall. His room, and what had been Steve’s once (for all of about a month) had been converted over to Bucky’s den, but the rest of the house… he never even thought about it anymore.

He struggled to open Becca’s door, remembering. He’d pissed her off once, badly, and run to her room, slamming the door behind him and locking it. She’d actually been so mad that she’d kicked the door in. Somewhat stunned that the door broke in that easily, she’d just stood there, staring at him for a long moment. “We’d better fix that, before Ma sees,” eight-year-old Bucky had said. She’d hit him anyway. He’d probably deserved it. And then they had fixed the door. Together. It was still a little sticky. They hadn’t done a good job of it.

Unlike Tony’s room, back in New York, Bucky hadn’t been keeping her room tidy. Dust was thick over her furniture. Bucky was in two places at once, suddenly.

_That last, horrible argument with Becca._

_They were laughing. Becca’s arm around his waist as they practically carried each other up the stairs, drunk as hell, after Ma’s funeral. And Dad, he just looked at them and asked Becca when he could go to Atlanta and get her things, bring her home. Because now that Ma was gone, she needed to come home._

_Old clothes and papers were strewn everywhere. Becca was screaming and crying. She’d just gotten a promotion at work. She worked hard. Dad didn’t understand anything. He didn’t care what she wanted. She wasn’t_ ever _coming back here!_

 _Dad was just yelling about how selfish and ungrateful she was. Bucky was squeezed against the wall in the hallway, trying to make them both stop, just_ stop _. They had just buried their Ma, for Christ’s sake. And Jim burst into tears. Even Becca was shocked by that. She stormed out, leaving Bucky to try to comfort their dad as best he could._

She hadn’t been back since. Even for Dad’s funeral. She’d sent her regrets. And flowers.

Tony eyed the mess dubiously. “We’ll have to clean up before we could fit any of the boxes in here,” he said.

Bucky felt brittle, like the slightest tap would shatter him into a million pieces. “The mess isn’t that bad, just Becca throwin’ a fit like six years ago. Typical.”

Tony groaned. “It’s been a long day. The other rooms don’t have any space?”

Something ugly twisted around Bucky’s heart. “Well, I know you’re used to having a house with a dozen extra rooms--” Bucky snapped his jaw shut on the rest, trying to rein himself in.

Tony took half a step back and stared at him. “What the _hell_ ,” he breathed, “was that?”

He could do this, he could. Bucky took a deep breath. “The other rooms. Yeah, maybe.” The sewing room was going to have even less space than Becca’s. Ma had been careful with her packing, but she also had boxes and wicker baskets full of clothes and cast-iron pots and wooden plates. “Try Dad’s room,” Bucky said. “End of the hall.” He stood there, surrounded by his sister’s things, trying to keep his hands unclenched, trying to keep a hold of his temper. Tony was… so goddamn flinchy sometimes. He knew it wasn’t Tony’s fault, Bucky knew that, he knew better but… Jesus, it wasn’t like Bucky could turn it off, all the time.

Tony looked at him for a moment longer, jaw working like he was chewing on something, but then he nodded. “Okay.” He turned and walked down the hall, out of Bucky’s sight.

God, he hadn’t been in the master bedroom since a few days after Dad had died. Once to change the sheets -- Dad had passed on in bed, and Bucky hadn’t known anything about it until he’d tried to wake him -- and once to get Dad’s best suit from the closet for the funeral. It hadn’t fit; the funeral director’d had to split it up the back and whip stitch a couple inches in the trousers so people wouldn’t see.

Steve had done the windows, the next time there was a big storm without saying a word. Reading Bucky’s mind the way he so often did. And Bucky had just… left it.

He managed to pull himself together, a little. Enough to move to the doorway of Dad’s room. Winifred Barnes had designed the entire building, the restaurant and the house on the second floor as well. She’d grown up in a tar-paper shack; she’d wanted something extravagant for herself. The master bedroom took up nearly a third of the floorspace and had windows on two walls, including a window seat with an ocean view. Bucky had sometimes closed the inside shutters up to hide inside. It had been a safe place when he was a boy.

Tony was standing in the middle of the room, staring. “Oh my god.” He looked out the windows, then turned in a slow circle, taking in all the details. He spotted the door to the master bathroom and went over to look in. “Oh my _god_. Why the hell are we still taking showers in the hall bathroom when you have _this_?”

 _They both died in this room._ It wasn’t a safe place anymore.

Bucky didn’t know how to explain. How he’d been so relieved and guilt-stricken at the same time when Dad had passed on, that Dad was out of pain, and had stopped being such a trial to Bucky, getting in the way more often than not, adding to the workload, that Bucky had just… closed the door and never opened it again.

For a few months, after the funeral, he’d thought he should deal with Dad’s stuff, with what was left of Ma’s things. He’d called Becca, asked if she wanted to come up and help him decide what to do. The less he thought about that conversation, the more he was likely to keep hold of his sanity. Becca’s response had been brutal and useless.

“ _Burn it down. The whole shebang. No one will miss it.”_

He didn’t have a good answer, and Tony was looking at him, half pity, half judgement. It had been a long fucking day, and he just did not have anything left for this conversation. The brittle thing in him cracked and then broke.

“I don’t expect _you_ to understand,” he snapped. “I never had --” He realized his voice was going up with anger, rage, embarrassment. He’d meant to, meant... Tony was backing away from him, eyes wide. His hand came down on the edge of Winifred’s dresser and her silver-backed hairbrush fell off the side and hit the floor. “ _Don’t you touch her things!_ ” He was across the room, scooped the brush up and held it to his chest like it was fragile.

Tony stiffened at that, mouth thinning as his lips pressed together and his eyes turning hard. “Fuck you,” he snarled. “You want to treat two-thirds of your damn house like a museum to the past you can’t let go of, then _fine_ , but you don’t get to yell at me like _I’m_ the one being irrational!”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you do, isn’t it?” Bucky couldn’t look at him. He kept his gaze on the wall, every muscle in his body taut and aching and furious. Like Tony knew _anything_ about it. Like Tony had ever experienced _real_ grief. “When things get too hard, you just… let it go.”

“Like _this_ is any better? You’re not even holding on to your memories with this; you’re acting like if you just pretend hard enough, the fact that they’re gone will just stop being true! You can’t live like this!”

“I was doing just _fine_ until you came along--”

He stopped as all the color drained out of Tony’s face. That… that wasn’t what he meant to say, but he couldn’t reach out and grab the words out of the air. “Wait, wait…”

Tony was shaking, and his eyes suddenly looked liquid. “No,” he breathed. “No, I’m not... Not like this, not right now.” He strode past, twisting to avoid even bumping elbows. He paused at the door and pointed at Bucky. “You need to pull yourself together and figure out just what the fuck is your fucking problem!”

Bucky hitched in a breath, not even knowing what the hell was going to come out of his mouth, but there was a nasty little part of him that really just wanted to _hurt_ something, and goddamn if Tony wasn’t the only thing there. “All of it. _All of it_ , Tony. Dockside. The house. You. Steve. All. All of this is my fucking problem!” All of it had been his problem, ever since Ma died, and he’d been trying so hard but it was all falling to pieces around him.

Tony went from pale to flushed in a second, and for the second time in a week Bucky saw his eyes blaze and his mouth curl into a snarl of rage. His hand tightened on the doorframe, and then he turned and walked away. A few seconds later, the front door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.

Well.

_...you slip up, just once, someday down the road, and he’s in the wind again…_

Bucky sat down heavily on his parent’s old bed, trying to shake the memory of Ty’s words out of his ears. Two years worth of dust puffed out, turning the air into glittering sparkles. “What… what the hell am I supposed to do now, Ma?” Like she could hear him. Like she’d even want to. God, he was such a fuckup sometimes.

Bucky sat there for a long, long time.

***

Tony slammed into the restaurant. Steve barely had time to look up from where he was cleaning the grill and say, “Hey, what’s--” before Tony had pushed through into the main floor.

“Nat!” he bellowed. “We’re going for ice cream. Right. The fuck. _Now_.”

Nat looked up from where she and Clint were engaged in a little bit more shoving and throwing crumpled napkins at each other than actually cleaning. Nat picked up the broom, spun it around like a quarterstaff and thrust it at Clint. “You clean. I am required.”

“Aw, Nat… No. Why don’t I ever get to go out for ice cream?” Clint whined, but he took the broom. Which was probably good, since Nat had been known to continue shoving when people refused to cooperate with her handoffs.

Bobbi Barton, who was sitting in one of the picnic tables, her injured leg stretched out on the bench opposite, piped up, “Because it’s probably your fault, darling. Clean up, so we can go home?”

Nat put an arm around Tony’s back. “Ignore Clint, he is useless,” she advised. “Come with me, Antonishka, we will solve all the world’s problems with ice cream and sprinkles.”

It wasn’t until he felt her arm that he realized how hard he was shaking. “I’ll settle for just mine,” he said, but he didn’t stop walking until they’d gone out the front door. “Oh, Christ, what a fucking mess.”

Nat ducked her head, looking up at him. “Do you need ice cream, or vodka? How many wolves are in your problem?”

“At least two,” Tony said, though the cool evening air was helping to wash away some of his anger. “We got into a screaming fight.” He didn’t bother to explain who ‘we’ was.

“We will start with ice cream,” Nat said, decisively. She kept her arm around him the whole time, leading him down the main street. The Baskin & Robbins was bright and cheery and pink inside, almost nauseatingly so. She peered at Tony’s face again, and then said to the counter girl. “We will each need a warm cookie, triple scoop sundae.”

“Boy trouble?” the counter girl asked as she got to work. Nat picked out flavors for her monstrosity, which included two cookies, and several toppings.

“Something like that,” Tony said. He picked his flavors -- not his favorite mint chocolate chip, but ones he knew Nat liked, because she’d probably steal half of it from him anyway. He didn’t talk again until they’d paid and taken their bowls to the table in the farthest corner. “Do you know,” he said, poking at the ball of chocolate chunk, “that I’ve been living with him for more than six months, now, and in all that time, he’s never opened those doors? Not even once.”

Nat gave him a sliver of cookie from her own sundae. “Let me speculate: he will deal with it _later_.” She stuffed a truly ridiculous amount of ice cream into her mouth at once, enough that it made Tony’s teeth ache in sympathy.

“And I cannot possibly understand how he feels, because all I do is _run away_ ,” Tony said, more bitter than he intended it to be. He closed his eyes. “And I am committing a crime if I touch anything, apparently.” He heaved a sigh, tears closer to the surface than he wanted. “I thought the point was for us to move forward, together. But he doesn’t... Tonight was the first time he even told me which room was which. Well, two of them. I still don’t know what’s in the third.”

“Did you know his sister wanted him to sell Dockside?” Nat asked. “Rebecca. You will not have met her, of course.”

“I barely knew she existed,” Tony pointed out, and that was another sharp pang. More pieces of himself that Bucky didn’t want to share, didn’t want Tony to see. It wasn’t like Tony needed _everything_ , but it felt a little like a lack of trust.

“Bucky was already running Dockside by the time his father passed. Jim… wanted nothing more to do with it, only helped because Bucky insisted and because he had nothing else. The fire in him, it goes out with Winifred. I only met her a few times. She was already dying when Steve and I started dating more seriously. Steve tells me, their Ma was the glue that held the family together. Rebecca is a realist, but also cruel. Not sentimental, the way Bucky is. Rebecca, she does not even come up to bury their father. She tells Bucky to sell Dockside, that she will take her half in cash. He must buy her out, or sell.” Nat poked at the second cookie. “You know what happens: Bucky stays, he finds the money. Not all. He makes payments to his sister. That is all the communication between them. He has no time to grieve, no time to go through his father’s things. He will do it later, he says. Later and later and _later_. He shuts the door and does not look. You… it is not you, Antonishka. This is old, old problem. You did nothing wrong.”

Except that Tony had lost his father and it hadn’t even touched him, not really. He had pushed the Gordian knot of his feelings to the back of his mind because there had been too much to _do_ , the estate and his mother and fucking Obie, and... And he’d been able to just ignore it. Turn it off. What did that look like, from Bucky’s side?

Did Bucky think Tony expected him to do the same?

He shook his head. “It’s not... it’s not about who was wrong. It’s not... He’s _hurting_ himself. And he’s so in love with the knife that he won’t stop to bandage the wounds. Won’t let me-- no, thinks I _can’t_ help him. That I can’t understand, too much of a spoiled rich brat.”

“Or thinks he does not need help, at all,” Nat said. “After all, the restaurant is still open, despite everything. He has his friends, he has a man he loves. What is so wrong that needs to be fixed now, he thinks. What is under that rug he has pulled up so long ago and pretends is not there? Why even look, yes?”

Tony grunted. “If it fit under a rug, I might be willing to ignore it, too. But instead, it’s squeezed into more than half his house, so tightly that there isn’t room to store some boxes.” He sighed. “It’s not about the space. Even if we had to live in the apartment over the garage, I’d be happy, just having him. But it’s not even like he goes in there to... remember them, or anything. And he got so, _so_ mad... I don’t think he was even that mad at Ty.”

Nat scraped the bottom of her paper bowl. “Do you know how quiet it has been, since you came to live with us?”

Tony blinked at her. “Quiet?”

“Bucky, he is what is called here ‘a good ol’ boy.’ Very southern, you understand. He swears and he smokes and he drives a pickup truck. And he yells. Except, now he does not. Do you know why that is, Tony?”

“Tell me,” he challenged, because he _knew_. But Nat sometimes saw things in ways that no one else did.

“You.” She continued to play with her spoon, drawing circles in the melted remains of her ice cream. “A long time, you are on automatic. You react to a raised hand before you see if it is to wave away the fly, or to hurt. This is not a bad thing. This is normal. Understandable. Bucky stops yelling when he sees how it bothers you. This is also good. He sees, he understands. He does what he can do to make you comfortable.

“But, at the same time, he has not given himself another outlet. Everything that happens, it just builds inside. He has no way to let it out. I think… I think he has hit the boiling point. He is so tense, so angry today. We did not do well, while you were gone. He is blaming himself, he should not have left, he should have been more clear with instructions, he has been bottling this all up. And you poke. You. The person that he loves more than anyone else. You are upset with him, you criticize, maybe? He snaps, you snap. Suddenly there is fight and you get everything. Everything that was under cover. It just… “ She balled her fist up and then spread her fingers wide. “Psssh!”

“Huh.” Tony looked down at his melting ice cream. “Okay. I can-- that makes sense. But how do we fix it?”

“You wish to?” She was twisting her spoon again and darted out, stealing a bite from his neglected sundae.

Tony leveled a flat look at her. “Of course I want to fix it. We can’t just... have a major explosion whenever the pressure gets too high.”

“It’s a fair question,” Nat said. “You commit to a person, to _fixing things_ , and sometimes you are in way over your head. And I cannot do it for you. The two of you, you must learn to fight more productively. I do not know how to fight with Bucky. I know, after many many years, mostly, how to fight with _Steve_. And I would not think my methods would work well, on Bucky. But first, you must decide, what issues are worth fighting over, and which you must simply accept as part of the person you have chosen to be with.”  

Tony swallowed. That was... uncomfortably close to how he had lived with Ty, giving in and accepting things that he got tired of fighting against. And of course it was unreasonable to expect to have a relationship and never have to compromise, but how did he know where the line was? What was a reasonable compromise and what was letting someone push him around?

That was a harder question, and Tony didn’t think he knew the answer. He looked down at his hands. At the ring on his finger, a promise made tangible. “...Okay. I don’t... I need to think. And I need to talk to him. When he’s not already mad. I think.”

Nat wiggled in her chair, a little uncomfortably. “As my backside has been buzzing since we sat down and I have been ignoring it, I would bet that Bucky is not mad _now_.”

Tony tipped his head. “That sounds like a hint.”

“Only if you are ready. It is a stupid saying, not to go to bed angry. If you need time, I will make sure you have it. But at least, you should tell him so. That he knows he has not made such a muddle that it is unrepairable. Steven and I will guest you overnight, if you have that need.”

Tony shook his head. “We probably won’t talk it all out tonight,” he said. “It’s late. And we’re tired. But I want... I want to be with him. Assuming he’s done exploding, anyway.”

Nat pulled her phone out, scrolled through the messages with her thumb. “I think you are safe on that account, for this argument, at least.” She sighed and then tapped in a message.

Tony watched her texting for a while, and then realized he might have messages of his own. He hadn’t turned the sound back on after he’d finished work, and he hated the buzzing, so he kept that off all the time. He fished it from his pocket and thumbed it on The screen lit up with notifications.

5 new messages from Bucky

_10:07pm That cld have gone better. Cmon lets talk this out_

_10:12pm Tony?_

_10:14pm Look i know ok. I didntmean, shit. I dont even know how to say sorry to u_

_10:32pm Can u not ignore me pls_

_10:36pm I love u. Sorry._

Oops. Bad timing for putting the phone on silent. Tony unlocked the screen and typed, _shit sorry phone on slient. not ignring u, having pep talk from nat. terrified now, home soon._

After he hit Send, he bit his lip and added, _love you 2._

New message from Bucky

_10:49pm Ok. door is open_

Tony had to blink at that for a minute, and then realized that he’d forgotten his keys. Christ, he was a disaster. “Yeah, time to go home,” he said, pushing the rest of his sundae across the table at Nat.

Nat tipped the carton up to her mouth, using the spoon to scrape up the rest of Tony’s mostly-melted ice cream. “You feel better?”

“Yeah, I do.” He leaned to kiss her cheek. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome,” she said. “You two are good together. You will figure this out.” She pulled her phone back out and glared at it. “Or I will kill him, and you will not have to.” She poked the screen several times before stuffing it back in her pocket.

New message from Bucky

_11:01pm ok tll her a dzn knife emojiis bit xcsive. Im nt that bad_

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some smut; if that's not your thing, stop reading at the scene break!

None of his texts were being answered, or even read. Bucky turned the music up loud enough that he couldn’t hear himself think, which was good, because nothing he was thinking was worth listening to anyway. He texted Nat and Tony again, then dragged the cleaning bucket and a couple of trash bags out from under the kitchen sink and set about doing the only thing he could focus on.

His mom’s bathroom. He could do that much.

Tony was right; the hall shower -- which he’d shared with Steve most of their teenage years and was in less than fantastic shape -- was spartan and utilitarian. The only thing worse was the tiny, closet-sized shower stall in the apartment over the garage. The apartment that Dad had built to try to tempt Becca into coming home. It hadn’t worked. She’d never moved her stuff out of her old bedroom. Never really come home.

There were pill bottles dated from before Ma had even died. Toothpaste that was god only knew how old. Not that toothpaste went bad, but… ew. He gathered up all the towels and the bathmats and threw them in the laundry hamper. Tossed old cough syrups and the sample bottles of shampoo that Ma used to keep on hand. He put a few things aside: the crystal candle holders. A glass vase full of dried flower petals. A bottle of her perfume.

Still no replies. He texted again, hoping. And then he cleaned. Because if he was going to be angry and embarrassed and ashamed and terrified all at the same time, he might as well use all that energy up productively. By the time his phone finally buzzed, he was shirtless and sweating, muscles in his back protesting, and the stone tile under his feet was clean for the first time in forever.

New text from Nat:  
 _10:39pm No._

_Wht do u mean no?_

New text from Nat:  
 _10:41pm ::knife emoji:: I can only be friends on this matter to one at a time. Tony has made a claim. Find your own friend._

_Ur on hs side?_

New text from Nat:  
 _10:44pm No sides. I refuse to solve your problems for you until I have grandchildren. He needs support. I will give it.  
_ _10:45pm I have only so much room for ice cream, to comfort both of you. No._

Bucky wiped sweat off his forehead, wiped his hands on his pants. Texted Nat. _I hve faith n ur abilty 2 fix this._

New text from Tony:  
 _10:48pm shit sorry phone on slient. not ignring u, having pep talk from nat. terrified now, home soon._  
 _10:48pm love you 2._

New text from Nat  
 _10:54pm you owe me so much wine for that bit of stupid. ::knife emoji::  
_ _10:55pm ::knife emoji::  
_ _10:55pm ::knife emoji::_

_Ok Nat I gt the ppint_

New text from Nat  
 _10:56pm ::knife emoji::_

It went on like that for a while. Bucky shot off two more texts to Tony and went back to what he was doing. "Soon" could mean anything, and he was still thinking too loud.

At least Tony was coming home. Thank god.

Hearing Ty’s voice in his head on constant replay was getting both old and horrible. ( _you slip up, just once)_

The front door opened, closed again. “Bucky?”

Bucky reached for his portable speaker, turned the volume down. “I’m in the master bath,” he called. He wobbled and sat down hard on the edge of the tub. It was a beautiful piece, really. His ma had custom-tiled the whole thing and it resembled something like a glass waterfall.

Tony’s steps were hesitant, coming across the floor. “Hey. You...” He stopped in the doorway, eyes wide. “Okay, you know I didn’t mean _tonight_ , right?”

Bucky couldn’t quite look at him, chose to stare at Tony’s shadow instead, as it flickered against the wall. “There’s two times, Tony: now, and later. I had some _now_ on my hands with nothing else to do.”

“Okay.” Tony came into the bathroom, within touching distance. “I’m sorry I was a dick.”

Bucky shuddered all over, reached out to touch Tony’s hand. ( _just once_ ) “I feel like an idiot,” he admitted.

Tony slipped his hand into Bucky’s. “Yeah? What for?”

( _when Tony runs off on you_ ) God, shut up, shut _up_. “Everything. The whole --” he waved his hand, trying to encompass pretty much the entire evening. “Would love a do-over from an earlier save point.”

“Yeah, that... probably isn’t the worst idea.” He came closer, close enough that Bucky could feel the heat of his body. “Nat says we need to learn how to argue. The right way.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, well, she also thinks there isn’t enough ice cream in the world to deal with both of us, so, unless we want to be responsible for a national shortage, we might want to figure something better out.” He hitched in a breath. “Sorry I was an asshole. I… shit, Tony, I don’t even know how to tell you I’m sorry without you… without reminding you of Ty. But I really am. I didn’t mean half of what I said.”

Tony sniffed. “The use of the word ‘sorry’ keeps you pretty solidly out of Ty territory. He explained and he rationalized and he... whatever, but I can probably count the number of times the word ‘sorry’ left his lips on one hand.” He sighed. “I could’ve been more understanding. I know you miss your parents. Not like I didn't know we weren’t sleeping in the master bedroom. I just... I don’t know, I kind of feel like a character in a fairy story. _You must never open these doors._ ”

“Well, I don’t quite keep the severed heads of my last four wives in here or anything,” Bucky said. “But, you know, they both died in here. In this room. Her quite a while back, and Dad just a year before you got here. It was just too much, on top of everything else. I didn’t need the space for anything, hell, I’m still barely up here, ‘cept to sleep.” It wasn’t like he felt the room was haunted. If anything, it was more like it didn’t hold _enough_ of them. He didn’t feel them _at all_. They were just gone. Gone and he didn’t know how to hold onto them.

“Mighta been easier if we’d ever done it. Ma left Becca’s room alone. In case she wanted it back or something, I guess. Shut it up, and we never went in there,” Bucky continued. He stared down at his hands, not wanting to see what Tony was thinking. Not wanting to see pity -- or worse -- on his face. “Dad did the same to Ma’s… project room, I guess you’d call it. Not that Ma was going to come back, but we didn’t need any of that stuff, and Dad couldn’t… he just couldn’t go in there anymore, and I didn’t know how to make him. Bet there’s a bunch of ladies from her old unit that’d love to get their hands on some of her dresses. She was a fine seamstress.”

“Oh, so that’s what’s behind the third door,” Tony murmured.

“Becca wanted to burn it down,” Bucky said. “The house, the restaurant. She lives down in Atlanta, she's a nurse. I haven’t seen her since that… since just after Ma’s funeral. We don’t talk anymore. I mean, we never did, much, but now, not at all.”

“Well... She had every right not to want to take it on,” Tony said, slowly, like he was picking his words with special care. “It’s a lot of work, and restaurants are... a chancy venture. Burning it down seems pretty extreme, though.”

Bucky laughed, bitterly. “You know you’re allowed to, in Virginia. You call the fire station and they’ll use it as a training exercise, as long as you’re not going to claim it on your insurance. Arson is generally a fraud-related crime. She actually told me that.”

“Well, now that’s just rude.” Tony’s fingers brushed his hair, lightly. “I don’t love the place like you do, because I don’t know it like you do, I don’t have the memories here that you have. But I know that I love you. I know I want what will make you happy. If you tell me that it makes you happy to keep these rooms as a... a memorial? If it helps you remember them better and lets you hold on to the best memories, then I am behind you, one hundred percent, I swear. But I don’t really think that’s what they do for you, honey.”

( _the life I was trying to give him was worlds and away better than your pathetic hand-to-mouth existence_ )

“You’re right,” Bucky said, trying to get his thoughts in order. “It’s just stuff. And it's not doing anyone any good bein’ locked away. I’ll call Becca, maybe she wants some of it. She might, now that she's had time to think it over. And we'll go through it. We can move in, get a bigger bed, maybe. You… you deserve it.”

“ _You_ deserve it,” Tony said. “I’ll help, whatever you want me to do. And we don’t have to do it all at once. I know it’s... difficult. If I’d known just _how_ hard... No excuses. We’ll figure out how to... to talk about things before it gets to the shouting point, yeah?”

“I mean it.” Bucky pressed the point, kissed the inside of Tony's wrist lightly. “We're getting married. You deserve to have a spouse who’s all the way here, not one foot stuck in a past that ain't coming back.”

“Well, yes,” Tony said. “I do think I deserve that. And you deserve a husband who is committed to you, and isn’t going to cut and run as soon as things get hard.” He kissed Bucky’s forehead. “I’m done running. Never again. Not even if-- if space aliens zap your brain and you turn into Ty, or my dad. I’m staying. I’d get Nat to help me kick your ass, mind. But I’m not running away.”

“Pretty sure I can promise no space aliens,” Bucky said. Stupid, how relieved he was. Ty was _wrong_ ; he’d been wrong from the beginning. Tony wasn’t going to leave because of a few stupid arguments, he wasn’t gonna run off, and he deserved better than for Bucky to fret about it. “Sorry I’m an ass, sometimes. But I do love you.”

“Yeah, well, I missed a few levels’ worth of ‘how to person’, so we’re well matched. And I feel like you’re not taking the threat of space aliens seriously, and that is a mistake.”

“Even evil, terrible aliens don’t want any more of Ty Stone on this planet,” Bucky said, trying for serious, but failing. “I think I’m safe enough.”

“Hm, well, that’s probably true,” Tony allowed. He traced the reluctant smile on Bucky’s face. “Feeling a little better?”

“S’long as we’re together, I got it handled,” Bucky said. He made a face. “I smell like cleaners, tho.” He took a deep breath and suggested, “Why don’t you run an’ go get some of our towels and shampoo and we’ll take the shower for a test run?”

“Yeah?” Tony eyed the space. “That sounds pretty good, actually. Okay, you’re on, Mr. Clean. I’ll be right back.”

***

Winifred Barnes had obviously liked both the ocean and her bathroom; the jetted tub was deep and if Bucky thought Tony wasn’t going to take advantage of a long, hot soak from time to time, he really was deep in denial. The shower was a custom job, square and lined with decorative stone instead of tiles, with deep recessed shelves for bath supplies and a generous amount of water pressure.

A lot nicer than the standard tub/shower combo that they’d been using.

Tony groaned in appreciation as the hot water hit his neck and shoulders. “I would have this shower’s babies,” he said.

Bucky flushed a little. “It’s entirely possible that you _do_ have this shower’s baby. My Ma…” He couldn’t finish that thought, blushing furiously.

Tony laughed and crowded Bucky against the wall where the water could fall on them both. “I’ll have to show my appreciation, then,” he said, and nipped at Bucky’s lip.

Bucky sighed, soft and eager. Took a handful of Tony’s hair, letting his hands get tangled in the strands near Tony’s scalp. He tugged, forcing Tony’s head back just enough to take possession of his mouth in a hard, demanding kiss, the other hand coming up to stroke Tony’s arm, shoulders, restlessly moving over water-slick skin.

Tony opened to Bucky’s mouth easily, with a happy hum; it felt like coming home. He leaned into Bucky’s body, his hands on Bucky’s chest sliding up to caress neck and jaw, holding Bucky in the kiss.

He pulled away just a bit, barely enough to breathe, and then licked at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, dragged his lips down to map the curve of Bucky’s jaw. “God, I love you,” he said in Bucky’s ear.

Bucky swept a hand through his hair, pushing the damp tangled mess out of his face, water dripping down his cheeks and onto his lip. “Nothing as good as you can be real,” he murmured, kissing Tony’s mouth, slow and sweet, not pushing or rushing; tiny nips at Tony’s mouth, holding him steady, breathing together. There was a spark there, growing, and then Bucky sucked on Tony’s lower lip, shifting to back Tony up to the water-warmed wall. His fingers locked onto Tony’s shoulder and hip as he rubbed along Tony’s thigh, the length of him stiffening against Tony’s skin. “But damn, you feel pretty real.”

Tony tipped his head back against the wall and let himself enjoy the sweet ache of arousal, the slow thrust of Bucky’s cock along the curve of his thigh, the sharp counterpoint of Bucky’s teeth against his throat. His hands slid around Bucky’s waist, slipped downward to grip Bucky’s ass and pull them closer together, breath catching at the increased friction.

Bucky moved lower, kissing his way across Tony’s clavicle, his tongue slick pressure on Tony’s skin, skittering and tracing lines, just barely grazing as he dropped slowly. He licked over one nipple, suckling until Tony was arching into the suction, gasping. Finally, Bucky slid all the way down to his knees.

He took a long moment, there, just to look and nudge a little at Tony’s thighs with his fingers, glancing up at Tony through long, water-clotted eyelashes.

“You want?”

Tony whined a little, pushing his hands into Bucky’s hair. Christ, but Bucky was gorgeous, those pretty eyes and that sinful mouth. _God_ , that mouth. “Please,” he begged. “Bucky, baby, honey...”

Bucky licked his lips, staring at Tony’s cock like it was the finest thing he’d ever seen, drawing out the tension like he was pulling taffy, and then licked, soft, sampling, twisting his neck to get the best angle as he traced along the ridge. “Love the way you taste, sweetheart,” Bucky practically purred. Tony’s hands tightened in Bucky’s hair, desperate not to let him get away.

Bucky took him in, sucking at the head of Tony’s cock, tonguing the slit, letting Tony’s hands direct him, moving at a glacial, almost indolent pace, long sweeping brushes of his tongue, then letting Tony thrust in, almost to the back, before sliding his tongue along the vein and down to the base.

Fuck, that felt so good... Tony held Bucky’s head and pressed in again, slow slow slow, teasing himself with the heat and the slick slide of Bucky’s tongue, the way Bucky blinked up at him, half-lidded and sultry. All evidence to the contrary, in the moment, Tony felt like he could do this for hours. “Oh, honey, you feel so damn good, you’re so perfect...”

Bucky wrapped a fist around Tony’s cock, stroking the base and twisting his hand, delicious sensation, still working his tongue over the head, a contrast and sustained tease that forced a whimper from Tony’s throat. His other hand curved around Tony’s ass, fingers gripping, pulling Tony closer. He sealed his mouth over the head of Tony’s prick, humming, the vibrations tingling at the sensitive skin there.

“Oh, _Christ_ ,” Tony gasped. He had to spread his legs a little wider and slump down against the wall to keep from falling over. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he complained happily. God.

Bucky’s blowjobs were amazing. He treated each one like a goddamn _mission_ , like Christmas was going to be cancelled if Tony didn’t have the best orgasm ever. He treated a lot of their sex like that, really, like Tony was special and amazing and getting naked together was a privilege. It was incredibly sweet, wonderfully dirty, and occasionally hard to even keep up with. Tony was the luckiest son of a bitch _ever_.

Bucky made a raw, eager noise, flicked his glance upward to meet Tony’s eyes, and managed to look smug, the asshole. It was nearly unmanning, and Tony’s knees wobbled as Bucky hitched in an unsteady breath and took him deeper. Bucky’s fingers traveled slow and steady across Tony’s ass until he was playing his fingertips along Tony’s crack. He took his mouth off Tony to pant for air, chest heaving. His fingers never stopped moving, though, stroking Tony off with one hand, teasing his ass with the other.  

That just-- Shit, not fair, he couldn’t even figure out which way he wanted to move, so he wound up practically vibrating, tension ratcheting upward at an exponential rate. “Bucky,” he whined, “please, c’mon...”

“Yeah, you want it, baby? You gonna come for me? You look so pretty when you do, just love to watch it,” Bucky said, his voice low and growling and hoarse from taking Tony’s cock. He stroked Tony, moving his hand faster, leaned in and mouthed at the head, letting his tongue slide along Tony’s slit, a provocative thrill. Bucky brought him up, close, oh, god, and then, with an evil, low laugh, Bucky pulled back and away.

He paused just until Tony opened his mouth to complain or whine or moan or _something_ , because fuck, that was mean, and stood in a single surging motion, capturing Tony’s mouth and thrusting his tongue inside, swallowing every sound.

Tony groaned and sucked Bucky’s tongue, hips rocking, pushing against Bucky’s body, desperate for the friction. Half-fumbling with the sheer strength of wanting, of _needing_ , he groped between them, wrapping his hand around Bucky’s cock and his own, pulling them together, stroking hard and fast as he gasped into Bucky’s mouth.

“Oh, god,” Bucky said, tearing his mouth away from Tony’s, panting hard. His hips were rolling in time to Tony’s hand, velvet skin gliding against Tony. “Yeah, that’s good, Tony, Tony.” He lipped at Tony’s jaw, brushed his tongue over Tony’s mouth. He found Tony’s free hand and raised it, kissing light and soft and tender against the inside of Tony’s wrist before pinning his hand to the wall, twining their fingers together.  

It was like an anchor point, something that kept him steady while the rest of the world shivered into pieces around them. “Yeah, baby, come on,” he moaned. Bucky felt so good, hot and hard and delicate under his hand, perfect pressure against his cock. “Come on, sweetheart, I want to feel you fall apart, want you to come for me. So goddamn gorgeous when you’re teetering on the edge... Go on, honey, give it to me.”

Bucky arched, thrusting hard against Tony’s hand, practically slamming them both into the tiles. His hand tightened and then he was gasping for air, dick jerking against Tony’s fingers, spilling over his wrist and spurting against Tony’s belly. “Oh, Jesus,” Bucky swore, low and fervent. “Oh, Christ, _Tony_.”

Ohhhh and the way Bucky said his name like that, the way Bucky’s grip made Tony’s wrist creak, he was gone gone gone, no turning back now. Another handful of erratic strokes, thrusting into his hand like he was fifteen again, and-- Ohhhhhhh yeah. Sparks flew from his fingertips and he nearly whited out with the force of his orgasm, Bucky’s name on his lips even if he wasn’t sure whether he actually said it aloud.

Bucky kissed him again, light, soothing, his hands petting down Tony’s shoulders and arms, bringing him down, helping to ground him again. “Come on, baby,” and Tony realized he wasn’t even sure when the water had cut off. “Let’s go to bed.” Bucky wrapped the towel around him, gentle. “God, you’re drunk on it. Love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Tony managed, leaning into Bucky’s side and letting him half-carry Tony to bed.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Thank god it was Monday. Tony’s advertising campaign had already started bearing fruit and for a weekend in the beginning of May, it had already been crazy. If the trend kept up, or -- both good and bad -- increased, they’d be rocking it by the end of the month.

But Bucky was a little tired and the orders had to be finished by tomorrow morning. Bucky had started building up what Tony called Process Documents; instructions for how each aspect of the management worked. “The process itself doesn’t matter,” Tony had insisted. “There’s no one right way to do anything; what matters is how _you_ do things, so that someone else can replicate the process when you’re not around.” Which meant that every time Bucky took a step, he had to jot it down on notebook paper for later transferal to the Process packets.

 _Ug_.

It wasn’t like he didn’t see some benefit, down the road. But still. _Ug_. Sometimes Tony helped, watching over his shoulder and asking questions and taking the notes. But Tony had gone into town this morning to meet with the local lawyer who was coordinating with the lawyers back in New York, so Bucky was on his own this time.

Writing was not his strongest skill. Tony joked about it from time to time; “this sentence no verb,” had become a common refrain.

Not to mention the whole lawyers thing was starting to worry Bucky, just a bit. He’d needed two hours (two very expensive hours!) with a lawyer and a notarized document from his sister to get his Dad’s stuff worked out, because even after Ma had passed on, it had never occurred to Big Jim to make any sort of will or legal documents. The way the law went, Jim had gotten everything that had been Winifred’s (mostly debts and hospital bills which ate up the life insurance policy) and then when he passed, it was divided equally between the two Barnes kids.

Still, it hadn’t taken much fussing.

The amount of fussing that Tony had been dealing with -- even given how remarkably helpless Maria Stark was for being a grown-ass woman -- was worrisome.

Speak of the devil -- that was Tony’s voice echoing in from the kitchen. That had been a shorter meeting that Bucky had expected; maybe Tony would be able to help with the process nonsense after all.

Two light taps, and the office door opened. “Hey, honey, I’m home.” Tony grinned, but it looked a little strained. _Ug_ , lawyers.

“Hey babydoll,” Bucky said. He pushed back from his desk and rubbed his eyes. He probably needed to get a bigger monitor, eventually. He was getting older and being hunched over that damn computer all the time was giving him a headache. “Anything new and exciting?” He’d been listening with half an ear about stock options and shell companies, not understanding at least one word in ten, most of the time, despite his two-year degree in business. But Tony seemed grateful to be able to unload it all, so Bucky kept listening, or at least trying.

Tony came the rest of the way into the office, shut the door, and leaned against it. “I don’t know how exciting it is, but there’s something new, anyway.” He grimaced and took a big breath. “They want us to have a prenup.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open. “A which, now?” There was an unpleasant squeeze in his chest; prenups were for Hollywood weddings and shit where no one expected it to last. “Who’s they?”

“The lawyers and the accountants,” Tony said. He didn’t look any happier about it than Bucky felt. “It’s... standard practice, they tell me, once you get over a certain threshold. I have to make a will, too.”

Well, that part was probably smart; Bucky had a will and a tiny little life insurance policy that would pay off his debts and leave Dockside, free and clear, to Steve. He should think about updating that… “What threshold?” His voice was still doing that… thing. Strained and higher-pitched than normal and he coughed to clear his throat, except it wasn’t anything easy like pollen messing with his vocal chords.

Tony glanced at Bucky, and looked down at his feet. “They start pushing for it at around half a million, and get pretty strict at a million.” He shrugged. “Which is pretty far back in the rear-view mirror, so...”

Clint and Bobbi Barton were some of the richest people Bucky knew, and _they_ didn’t have a prenup. Of course, they’d gotten married at a fucking drive-thru chapel in Las Vegas, so probably they weren’t quite the ideal model. And they were burning through their cash at a considerable rate. They’d been back in the garage apartment while Bucky and Tony were up in New York because the rental was booked and Bobbi hadn’t wanted to get a hotel.

Wait, _what_?

“You know I’ve been tryin’ to stay out of this,” Bucky started, feeling weird and squirmy in his gut, like he’d bitten an apple and found half a worm. He really didn’t want to know, he did not, but…”You might want to tell me how far in the rearview we’re talkin’.”

Tony blinked at him. “I thought you were listening when Obie and I--” He swallowed, shaking it off. “Um, they’re still figuring actual net worth because some of it’s in... real estate and offshore and _stuff_. But... an order of magnitude. Somewhere between thirty and fifty, depending on where they decide to pin the stock buy-out.”

Hadn’t Tony said something like Obie was offering him a dime on the dollar for the stock? Bucky stared. Realized he was staring and tried not to, blinking rapidly. “You…” He swallowed hard. “You mean thirty… _million_ dollars.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Liquid assets are lower, but still well over ten. I really thought you knew, I’m sorry.”

Oh _God_ people were going to talk.

Bucky stared again, trying to reconcile his smart-assed, adorable, brilliant, funny, hard-working, caffeine-addict boyfriend with someone who was nearly on an equal footing with Thor’s father. (Bucky had seen Thor’s dad a few times, but never actually spoken with the man. Thor wore his financial security with flair and some weird spending habits, though Thor wasn’t nearly as bad as his younger brother.)

It was an even bigger cognitive dissonance than trying to reconcile skinny, asthmatic Steve from the poster-boy for Gold’s Gym that he’d grown into.

Tony didn’t look any different. Well, a little different. He always dressed up a bit to visit with the lawyers, but most of that was the various outfits Jan had insisted on sending home with them. Van Dyne originals, and dammit, maybe Bucky should have looked up just what that meant.

“Uh.” Bucky rolled his tongue around in his mouth a few times. Jesus, he’d been taunting Ty with it, and hadn’t even had a _fucking clue_. He clung to the only thing that made sense. “Prenup means the wedding’s still on, right?”

Tony laughed at that, a little shakily, and finally stopped holding the wall up to come over to Bucky. “Assuming you’ll still have me, after all this mess,” he said, and held out his hand. The left one. The one with the ring on it.

People were going to _talk_. It took Bucky a few minutes to reach out, let Tony grasp his fingers, and damn it, Bucky didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. Except that there were people who would want Tony, now, _because_ of the money. People who were a lot smarter and better than Bucky could ever hope to be.

“Assuming you’ll have me, s’more like,” Bucky said. “I guess that’s what the prenup is about. Makin’ sure I don’t take you for everything.”

Tony grunted. “That’s what the lawyers want it for, yeah. I was thinking about it on the drive back, and I... I think I want it _now_ because if I _do_ ever go completely batshit insane and leave, me-now doesn’t want you to have to fight for everything you deserve.” He made another face. “But you keep telling me that space aliens aren’t a thing, so that doesn’t seem too likely.”

Bucky shook his head, shook it away. “I don’t… deserve any of that money, Tony. That’s your money, baby, you… fuck, you _bled_ for it, didn’t you?” And that sucked his breath away, because if he felt like Howard’s money was tainted, somehow, God, imagine how _Tony_ must feel, who’d suffered those blows, who’d fought his whole life with nothing to avoid becoming the very thing Howard wanted… and _fuck_. That Bucky was going to turn him into if he didn’t stop right the fuck now. “Wait, wait. Back up, rewind, replay. Sorry, visceral reaction on my part. _Jesus_ , it’s a lot to wrap my brain around, ain’t it?”

“I know,” Tony said. “I know, I’m sorry, I wish I could just skip over it, I really do. But I... Look, you took me in when I had _literally nothing_. I thought I’d been disowned. You hired me, you gave me a home. _That’s_ the money I’ve earned, honey. And you loved me, knowing I had nothing. You were going to marry me knowing that all I had to bring to the table was whatever you’d already paid me anyway. And you didn’t care. You wanted me for _me_ , and I think you may be the first person ever that I can honestly say that about. So when I said yes? I said it because I want to share everything I am with you, because I know you actually appreciate it. It... just turns out that everything I am is a little more than either of us knew at the time.”

“Come here, you,” Bucky said, turning in his chair so Tony could take the best seat in the house, so to speak, right across his thighs. “What you have to bring to the table, what I only ever wanted, was a smart mouth and a brilliant mind and a good heart. That you’re fuckin’ beautiful is all the bonus I ever needed. The rest of this… I don’t even know. I don’t… god, people are _gonna_ talk.” He couldn’t stop that refrain; he hadn’t lived his whole life in a small town in Southside for nothing. And Tony’d learned it, the hard way, the way people talked.

Tony went boneless, tucking his face into Bucky’s neck. “They don’t have to know anything. Or, at least, not enough details to make it worth their time. They can think it’s, you know, a mid-size inheritance, enough to do some of the repair and upgrade work you’ve been wanting, but not enough to gossip about much.”

“That might… be the best plan,” Bucky said, slowly. “Not that… I don’t want you t’think I’m ashamed of you, ‘cause I ain’t. But if you start throwin’ money around, here, there’s gonna be a hell of a lot of folk come with cap in hand, and they don't stop if you say yes, an' they get _nasty_ if you tell 'em no. Clint’s already had some of that, after last summer.”

Tony nodded. “I know. Not like we never got that in New York, either. I don’t want to be ‘that rich guy’. I just want to be Tony, Bucky’s husband. We’ll keep it subtle, promise. We don’t even have to tell Nat and Steve, if you want. Though I want to do something nice for them, sometime.”

Bucky brushed his thumb over Tony’s lip. “So, what’s the prenup say?” Bucky didn’t even want to think about it; losing Tony in a wave of lawyers and money, that just seemed brutal and cold, but… it wasn’t worth fighting about. He’d just make damn sure that the agreement would never be pertinent.

“Whatever we want it to,” Tony said. “They want an assessment on Dockside and any other investments you have, but you’ve got your copies of your tax forms, that’ll do. And then we can just tell them what we want it to say. Within reason. They won’t let me give you more than half.” That came out petulant, like he’d already tried and was sulking about it.

Bucky blinked. “What do you mean they won’t let… it’s your money, ain’t it?” _Not that, shit._ “Not that I want even half, Tony, _Jesus_. But…”

“Well, I mean, obviously, if I put my foot down, they’ll have to do what I say,” he sighed. “But it comes with a lot of ‘advise against in the strongest terms’ lectures.”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, I reckon so,” he said. “I got the taxes an’ assessment an’ stuff in the safe upstairs. Feels a little small, compared. Well, the land’s worth quite a bit. Dad and Ma picked it up cheap-like back in the seventies. We’re locked into some rezoning clauses, because what you can build has changed.” He shook his head. “You know, I was needling your ex about how many zeros and I… damn, I hope he knew better’n me, because I bet it gets to him.”

Tony laughed, puffs of warm breath ghosting across Bucky’s neck. “I’m sure it did. Oh my god, that’s fantastic. Did he manage to respond, or did he do the thing where he just pretends like he didn’t hear you?”

Bucky rubbed his cheek against Tony’s hair, soaking in warmth and love. “Actually, he told me to get a prenup.” Which was painful, and fucking hilarious at the same time. Bucky bit at the insides of his cheeks, trying not to laugh, except… nope. He lost it, muffled the sound against Tony’s shoulder. “An’ then I suggested he get therapy for his temper problem, so you know, good advice, all th’ way around.”

Tony laughed even harder at that. “Ridiculous. Ty can’t get therapy; someone might point out to him that in addition to his temper problem, he’s a controlling bastard.”

“I don’t know how you put up with him as long as you did,” Bucky said. He shook his head a few times. “I mean, I get he’s not exactly on his best behavior with me, or anything. But… yeah. Wow.” He nuzzled at Tony’s ear. “So, I don’t know anything about it, you tell me what you think’re good things to put in this agreement. It… Well, I can think of one thing we ought to do, I reckon.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“This,” Bucky said, gesturing around with one hand. “You. You oughtta be a full partner. Won’t change anything, you know. Clint’s an _investor_ and I still make him do dishes.”

“I’d be insulted that you’re not ranking your husband-to-be over a mere investor if I didn’t know that _you_ jump in and do dishes when we’re in the weeds.” Tony kissed Bucky’s nose. “But okay. If you’re sure, I can add it to the list of things to talk about the next time I go back.”

 _Well, there was a thought._ “Um. Maybe this is a stupid idea, but I think it just occured to me that we could probably afford an industrial washer, these days.”

Tony beamed. “There you go. We should just start a running list of improvements to consider. Can’t do them all at once if we want to avoid talk, but we can start prioritizing, figure out how much we can spend at a time without people noticing, like that.” He wriggled happily. “It’s like Christmas.”

The squirming around was getting a bit distracting. “Well, since you’re already in Santa’s lap, babydoll, guess you could tell me what you want under the tree, an’ I’ll see what I got in my sack for you.”

“Oh my _god_ , that was awful,” Tony complained, not doing a very good job of hiding his giggles. “That was just... Nope, no, I couldn’t possibly marry a man who makes such terrible jokes. Wedding’s off, mister.” He wasn’t making any move to get off Bucky’s lap, though.

Bucky considered letting go, but then wrapped his arms around Tony tight and pulled him in, squirming and mock-protesting. “Shotgun wedding it is, then.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

Tony stared out the window and muttered to himself irritably. He hadn’t _wanted_ to come back to New York in the middle of the summer. He’d wanted to hold off on coming back until the fall. But Maria had suddenly decided she was done with her vacation and wanted to go home. The heat in Virginia in the middle of summer did not really endear anyone to the area. Maria had lasted less than two weeks in the rental before she’d declared herself done. Then one of the few bits of paperwork that Tony had been eagerly awaiting finally fell into his hands -- the title for the Studebaker.

Tony didn’t have many happy memories from his childhood, but a big percentage of those revolved around the antique car, one of the few activities where Howard was patient enough to explain things in a way that Tony could understand. When he’d gotten older, Tony’s eye had mostly been drawn to newer vehicles, with their sleek lines and high-performance engines, but he’d always made time to keep the Studebaker running and happy.

So he’d flown with his mother back to New York, and he would drive the Studebaker home. He probably wouldn’t drive it much around town -- it was more of a gas hog than Bucky’s truck, and its antique status meant it shouldn’t be exposed to the hazards of the road more than necessary. But Tony couldn’t stand the thought of just having it shipped back, even if he couldn’t quite articulate the reason why.

Hopefully, if this interview went well, he’d be home in time to go to Steve’s annual birthday trip to Busch Gardens.

He checked the clock on the wall: five ‘til.

“Stop fidgeting, _cuore mio_. It’s a bad habit,” Maria chided gently.

Tony muttered some more and forcibly stilled his hands and feet. “I’m twenty-five, you know, Mom.”

“Are you sure, dear? You sounded about eight there for a moment.”

Tony threw her an exasperated look, but he didn’t really mean it; the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes was worth a little maternal teasing. The transformation in his mother had been no less than astonishing; when she’d arrived in Virginia, she had seemed like an entirely different woman. Mostly, he thought, because Mrs. Danvers had talked her into some organic tea mixture as a replacement for the vast majority of her anxiety pills, and -- placebo effect or not -- she’d drastically cut back on them.

Tony had sent Mrs. Danvers flowers and a pair of diamond earrings. Officially, thanks for hosting his mother. Unofficially... Well, she’d know.

The doorbell sounded, and Tony automatically looked at the clock: exactly one minute ‘til. This would be the third time he’d met Philip Coulson, and the third time he’d been vastly impressed at Coulson’s precision timing.

One minute later, Happy -- who was filling in as Maria’s bodyguard until someone could be hired -- ushered Mr. Coulson into the room.

Tony shook his hand, and led him to the cozy collection of chairs where Maria waited. “Mom, this is the candidate I told you about, Mr. Coulson. Phil, my mother, Mrs. Stark.”

Maria looked Coulson over, a quick appraisal, and offered her hand. “Come and sit with us, Mr. Coulson. Antonio has already reviewed your skills, and I trust his judgment; I would like to find if we can work together. How did you come to know each other?”

“Ma’am,” Coulson said. He didn’t quite salute, but he had the look and posture of a career military man. “I understand you were on vacation in Sandbridge these last few weeks; you might have met one Sam Wilson while you were there? I made the acquaintance of Mr. Wilson during a very trying operation that went badly south. Wilson and his partner, Riley, rescued me and my men. I owe Wilson my life. He’s one of the best. When he retired from active service, he went to work at Dockside for a while, as he… readjusted to civilian life. We’ve remained in contact. He considers your future son-in-law to be the best man _he’s_ ever met. So when my skillset could be of some use, he thought to contact me, see if I’d be interested in the job.”

“Oh, military contacts,” Maria said knowingly. “And you’re interested in moving to the city?”

“Beats Afghanistan,” Coulson said, philosophically. “The food is better. Water… not so much. Little more crowded than Wisconsin, but the weather’s about the same. I think I’ll enjoy it.”

Tony nearly facepalmed, but his mother actually laughed. “And you don’t mind shadowing an old woman around just to keep off the vultures?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. It was a look Tony remembered from his distant childhood years, one that meant _I’ll know if you’re lying, so don’t even try_. “It’s not likely to be very interesting or exciting.”

Coulson glanced at Tony. “Well, Mr. Stark said I’d be protecting his mother, not his grandmother. If there’s an old woman that I’m to attend to, perhaps I should be meeting _her_.” He gave Maria a quick, almost shy smile. “In all seriousness, if the job does get exciting, I’ll know I was required, and if it doesn’t… well, that’s all the better for you.”

Maria eyed him for a long moment, and Coulson accepted it with easy grace. After a moment, she said, “When can you begin?”

“As soon as you’d like,” Coulson said. “My previous employer and I had some religious disagreements and I’m currently between berths, so to speak.”

Maria hesitated. “Religious disagreements,” she repeated. “Without prying into your personal life, Mr. Coulson, is there anything I should be aware of?”

“I was previously employed by Loki Odinson as security for his bar,” Coulson said. “Quite frankly, Mrs. Stark, he thought he was God and I disagreed.”

Tony choked out a laugh. At Maria’s sharp glance, he said, “I’ve met the man, Mom. That’s... a pretty accurate assessment of his character.”

She didn’t look terribly impressed, but she nodded her understanding. “Yes, I think you’ll do. You may work out the details with Antonio, and I’ll see you--”

“Give us one more day,” Tony interjected, “so we can get a room made up.”

“In two days, then,” Maria agreed. She stood up, and Coulson rose as well with impeccable manners, slightly old-fashioned, which Tony found amusing but his mother would appreciate. “I could use some fresh air,” she said. “If you’ll see Mr. Coulson out, Antonio, after you’ve concluded your business?”

“Sure thing, Mom,” Tony agreed.

Coulson chimed in with, “It was a pleasure meeting you, ma’am.”

Maria smiled on them benignly as she left, and Tony blew out a breath. It was settled. His mother would have a protector -- someone whose loyalty was to people and not to money, who could be trusted -- and Tony would be able to head for home soon.

***

The fact that Maria Stark had to have two-thousand dollar designer jeans with hand-stitched embroidery on the cuffs before she’d even consider wearing them was amusing. That she was going to wear them while digging in the dirt was hilarious.

Well, technically, it wasn’t exactly digging in the dirt. There were a few balconies and rooftop patios where a gardener had brought in potted plants and arrangements.

It had been Wanda that had gotten Maria into the idea of having a little rooftop garden. Wanda and her brother lived in a tiny, two-bedroom beach house with a postage-stamp sized lawn, but Wanda had put together a Japanese-style garden, complete with zen sandbox and a koi pond. Last fall, Steve had helped them paint the back fence, and the whole thing had a mystical feel. A tiny little slice of alternate reality, far removed from the normal bustle and hectic tourism of Sandbridge.

Tony had been wholeheartedly for this idea; his mother needed something -- anything, really -- to keep her occupied so she didn’t get in trouble, start thinking she needed someone to direct her life and from there it was only a hop, skip and jump away from thinking that Obie wasn’t so bad, that he cared, that she was being timid and ridiculous. And just. No.

A garden was a ladylike enough occupation that Maria’s society friends wouldn’t look down on her for engaging in it.

And, Tony had to admit, there was something utterly satisfying about seeing his mother -- his mom! -- with dirt smeared across her nose and absolutely filthy hands.

“That’s a good look for you, Mom,” he said. “But I hope you’re not going to track all that muck into the house.”

“It’s my house, darling,” Maria said, brushing her hands off on her jeans, leaving smears on the fabric. “If anyone should be allowed to track dirt, it would be me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tony said, laughing. “And yet, you’re still going to fuss at me after I finish the Studebaker’s tune-up, aren’t you?”

“It’s a mother’s privilege, dear.” She surveyed the porch; then glanced down at the sketches she’d put together. Who would have known, all those years, that his mother had a talent for drawing? Not Tony, that’s for sure. If her rooftop garden looked anything like the light, airy designs she’d put together, she was going to be the envy of many of her society friends. “I really am going to need to put in more India Nasturtium here. That building provides entirely too much morning shade. But it’s such a lovely red, don’t you think?”

Tony had… entirely no opinion about flowers, really. “Red’s always been my favorite color,” he said gamely. “You’ll have to send pictures when you’ve got it all set up.” Not that he’d be able to tell them from any other pictures of flowers, but he’d promised himself that he would stay in touch, and complimenting pictures of flowers was a million times easier than trying to steer her away from her increasingly less subtle hints that they should plan for the wedding to be in New York.

“Well,” she said, reaching out and brushing his cheek -- which probably left a smudge of dirt, “flowers are like children. It takes a while before you see the fruits of your labors. Next spring, it will all be perfect. And for right now, it lives in my heart.” She gave him a searching glance. “You’ve rather blossomed, yourself, Antonio.”

“Virginia’s been good for me,” he agreed.

Maria chuckled. “You don’t fool me, Antonio,” she said. “Your young man has been very good for you. But it is more, I think. You finally came into your own. You were always meant to thrive in the sun and not be stuck in a very large shadow. I know, I never say it, and I should have. But I’m so proud of you, you know. You’ve become a very fine young man.”

It was like being punched, but without the pain. The air left his lungs and a fist closed around his heart and then, looking at his mother’s smile, everything loosened, and it felt like he could breathe deeply for the first time in years. He pulled her into a tight hug, heedless of the dirt. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, _cuore mio_ ,” Maria said. She kissed one cheek, then the other. She pulled back, holding him at arm’s length to look at him, then scowled. “Antonio, don’t you dare track all that muck into my house.”

Tony didn’t try to hold back his laugh. Yeah, she was going to be okay.

***

Finally, he’d made it far enough south of D.C. to be free of the worst traffic, which meant he was only three hours from home. Maybe four; the Studebaker drove like a dream, but it wasn’t exactly a speedster, and the chokepoint bridge-tunnels that led to Virginia Beach were never traffic-free, especially this close to a holiday. The long drive had been cathartic, though, in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

It was impossible to be sitting in this car and not think of his father, and after an hour or so of fighting it, he’d stopped trying. He’d had a hundred conversations with Howard in his head, beginning with the bitter and sliding slowly back toward the happier memories the car held for them: Tony didn’t think he and his father would ever have gotten along well, but maybe, just maybe, they might have been able to start over again. It would have to do.

When Tony pulled into a Burger King to stretch and have a late lunch, he had several text messages waiting for him from Coulson and Bucky. Tony checked Coulson’s message first, because if he let himself fall down the rabbit hole of texting with Bucky, he’d forget.

_11:09am You weren’t kidding about the heavy-handedness. How hard can I throw this guy across the room?_

Tony snorted. He’d _warned_ Coulson about Obie, but some things had to be seen to be believed. _Don’t break anything, He has more $$ for lawyers now. But feel free to call cops and claim he’s acting drunk._

Then he flipped eagerly to Bucky’s screen.

_11:24am Hate 2 ask but u be home 4 dnnr? Cray bzy alrdy. Love u ::heart emoji::_

_11:39am btw new mattrs jst arvd....... hurry up so we cn brak it in......! ::wink emoji:: ::eggplant emoji:: ::peach emoji::_

Tony laughed so hard the teenager behind the counter gave him a startled look.

_Just stopped 4 lunch, won’t be in time for setup but should be thre by 5 or so. Sure we cant just skip dinner and go str8 to mattress test???????_

New text from Bucky

_1:44pm All work + no play makes Bucky a dull boy. Wldnt want me to be boring, wld u?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this story!!! Thanks for coming along on this ride with us!
> 
> Next up, we're going to backtrack a little bit to see the boys' first Christmas together, and since we've finished our regular weekly posting for the [Communal Kitchen](http://archiveofourown.org/series/554317) 'verse, this 'verse will start posting _three_ times a week, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday!

**Author's Note:**

>  **Note:** The Sandbridge ‘verse is an AU that’s set in the real world, so we wanted to make it plain right away that Obadiah Stane, while not the most scrupulous businessman in the world, is not overtly evil the way he is in the MCU. He is not going to try to have Tony kidnapped or killed, and he is not selling weapons to terrorists. He’s a greedy, grasping asshole, but he’s not doing anything that’s illegal. We wanted to put that on the table right away so you guys wouldn’t fret yourselves over it. _At no point in this fic are either of the boys going to be in any real physical danger._
> 
> If anything in the tags is cause for concern, please feel free to drop tisfan or 27dragons a note; we’ll be happy to let you know the extent or chapter location of potentially triggering items.
> 
> \---
> 
> A million thanks to [novarain01](https://novarain01.tumblr.com/) for the gorgeous art in Chapter 4!


End file.
